


Following Breadcrumbs

by PeaceSignDisasterBi



Series: Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back [1]
Category: Boku no Hero Academia Vigilantes, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Investigations, M/M, My Hero Academia: Vigilantes, Post-Overhaul Arc (My Hero Academia), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceSignDisasterBi/pseuds/PeaceSignDisasterBi
Summary: You trace the tangle of strings to see where they each start; long ago, Toshinori Yagi learned that the way people and organizations began was just as important as where they ended up. The deeper Toshinori goes down the rabbit hole, the more he sees the tangled web of All For One's planning-- and how he isn't the only person whose life has been revolving around the villain's plans over the years.
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yagi Toshinori | All Might
Series: Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563592
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Touch (And Go)

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR THE POST OVERHAUL ARC!!!**

“The nurses said you are— _were_ , I suppose _now_ —scheduled to stay overnight.” Shouta doesn’t react where he leans against the wall across the doorway of Mirio Togata’s room. Only the slight shift of his weight from one leg to the other signals even a minimal acknowledgment of the other man’s presence. “I told them you were either leaving with another Pro or staying in the hospital anyway, just… probably not in your own room.”

Shouta grunts. Shifts over a smidge, enough of an invitation that Toshinori leans up against the wall next to him.

Shouta doesn’t show any surprise at the other man’s acceptance, wordless as it is. The two men stand in silence for a few seconds, heavy with the day’s emotional bludgeoning. Maybe the past few days’ worth. Weeks’ worth.

When Nemuri sat in the open plaza with Shouta so many years ago, introducing the idea of joining UA during his full-time hero days, well. Shouta never expected it to lead to here, standing side by side with a mourning All Might in what may very well be the burgeoning Age of Villains.

He’s tired. He can’t remember a time where he was _this damn tired._

“What did they tell you, then?” Shouta asks at last, tired of the heavy atmosphere. He’s spent the day watching everyone fall apart, keeping his students from wallowing in despair, being run down and stabbed and—he’s too drained to keep himself from following those well-trodden thought paths.

“Well the nice nurse with the scales that held you down for your stitches while you were, and I’m quoting her directly, ‘thrashing like a cat pulled out of water’ said that as long as she doesn’t have to restrain you again well… it’s no scales off her back. So long, of course, as we sign the paperwork.” Toshinori huffs a bit, something like a laugh, Shouta thinks.

He still doesn’t turn to look at him, though. Doesn’t know why, as if he’s not allowed. As if seeing him now, fresh from another tragedy, is too much for him to bear.

“I’m sorry,” Shouta says instead. Tries not to wince at how _honest_ he just sounded, despite the dull tone.

“It’s alright,” Toshinori says after a breath. “It was a pretty terrible joke, I admit.” There’s movement in his peripherals and Shouta is fairly sure Toshinori is rubbing his neck. He doesn’t press—never does, really, even when faced with such an obvious downplay. ­

Toshinori, for all the jovial tones, can’t keep track of his watery smile. He’s glad that Shouta, at least, is giving him even a modicum of privacy even though Toshinori is the one to intrude; the man hasn’t turned to him at all since he first heard Toshinori’s footsteps down the hallway. He blinks back what feels like more tears.

 _You’re an ambitious kid, I’ll give you that,_ Nana had told him once, _little bit of a cry baby, too._

“—san. Yagi-san!” Shouta says loud enough to startle Toshinori.

“I-I’m sorry,” Toshinori says, blinking rapidly, “I…” He trails off, clears his throat. Doesn’t continue. Shouta is looking at him, now, probably from the moment he’d drifted off into despondency. “It’s been…”

“It’s alright,” Shouta says eventually and turns. He can still see—almost _hear_ —the way Toshinori has begged Nighteye to fight fate just one more time. How he’d told him, with the open assumption that this was Toshinori’s fate as well, either thwarted or still waiting. The questions die on Shouta’s tongue as he finally looks at Toshinori. The way the darkness underneath Toshinori’s eyes were rimmed with red, now; the man looked more gaunt than usual, after finally having days where he rested and ate, as much as he could, anyway.

Losing a hero, even during the crueler and harshest of battles, was always hard. It was hard on the public, the sidekicks, the _goddamn kids_ —Shouta drew another breath, a slow inhale he let out in a long exhalation. He always said he was preparing the students for the life of pro heroes but, even just for a little while, he wanted to keep them safe, too. Keep them from the tragedies for just a day longer.

 _God_ , what a fucking _tiring year_ it had been.

“Is this… what you felt,” Toshinori says at last, softly, as if he doesn’t even know he is speaking his thoughts out loud, “after Kamino? Knowing, almost ready to put your whole life on the line only…”

Only he couldn’t make it. He had been too busy with the media, with stupid _fucking_ questions and insinuations and—

He had been there, with Nedzu and Kan, watching as the helicopter hovered and rounded Toshinori’s smaller form. Had stood up, shocked, _afraid_ ; his eyes burning as his quirk tried to activate _across a goddamn television screen_. He had choked on the words while Vlad King and Nedzu both yelled at the television _get up, All Might! You have to win!_

How does it feel, Shouta thinks but would never dare to ask, to win the war and keep losing, regardless?

To want to change the results but knowing there is nothing else to do but keep moving forward?

Toshinori doesn’t look like he’s expecting an answer, and frankly, Shouta _doesn’t_ have one for him.

“It’s what I feel now,” Shouta says, and it kind of shocks him a little, to be honest, and it seems to have shocked Toshinori for all that he’s said in five words that dragged themselves out of him in the ensuing silence between them. He doesn’t say any more, but eyes the door to Mirio’s room in a silent _I was there and look at the results, All-Might: one hero dead, two students injured, two heroes injured, and Mirio is—_

Mirio’s only hope was a little girl in quarantine because of a situation he shouldn’t have been front lining for. For a situation _they_ couldn’t handle.

The way the boy had broken down, had held onto him when he’d offered even the briefest of hopes, no matter how miniscule; Shouta was sure it was going to be another memory that haunted him. Something like this—it was unheard of. It made him feel like peeling his own skin off, brought back memories of his own time of UA.

Made him feel like less of a _hero_. A little taste of how it was growing up, echoes of the fear and _unnaturalness_ of his own quirk. Hell, if Suneater hadn’t arrived…

He was going to be taken and experimented on, that much was clear. He thought of Eri’s bandaged legs, the way her eyes went wide in fear and resignation. A life built and rebuilt on pain and torture and experimentation.

“They’re keeping the students for the night,” Shouta continues, knowing fully well that Toshinori knows this, too. He can hear his own voice, detached and neutral and as natural as he can keep it. “But tomorrow morning they should be allowed back to the dorms, after they go through the mission inquiries and give their final reports. I’ll be accompanying them back to UA tomorrow, however… if you’d like, well…”

“Ah,” Toshinori starts, hand finding his own neck once more. For living so long and facing so many battles, it is still strange to see the tall man hunch down and whither into embarrassment. “Well, although I appreciate the distraction—"

“The children find your presence calming,” Shouta intones, cutting the other off. “I suppose there is an element of distraction, but it is more for their sake. I’ll stay here and let you know if anything changes. Get some rest, Yagi-san.”

Toshinori takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. The two stay there, a foot of space between them, the breadth of history Shouta doesn’t know but understood then, a bit, as they watched Sir Nighteye pass away. The way they had spoken in bitten off, too-late allusions to some past that was haunting them there, still.

“I wasn’t the one that was on the mission,” Toshinori says, “will you be getting any rest or will you stand guard for the rest of the night, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Don’t think any of us are going to be getting much sleep,” Shouta responds blandly, “although Fat-yan might, considering his only options of hospital food are _cardboard_ and _cardboard_. Not many options but to sleep and get well enough to leave tomorrow.”

And that shouldn’t _tickle_ Toshinori’s memory in a vague sense, he thinks he chuffs a little laugh at the comment but the name _Fat-Yan_ , it wasn’t something many people called FatGum often. In fact, he could probably count the people that _did_ on one hand, and to hear Aizawa use the moniker so freely was… not befuddling so much as beguiling.

But there’s too much. There are plans and steps and information cycling through Toshinori’s head, he’s four steps forward while three spots behind and _it’s still not enough_.

Everything else is secondary, for now. He tucks the information away, the way Shouta blinks slowly at him, and the offer to think about later. For now, though, he should probably get back and meet up with Nedzu. He needs to call Tsukauchi; needs to know from Izuku himself—

“I think,” Toshinori says lightly, betraying the miasma of things he needs to do and the wide breadth of information flitting through his head, “I will follow your advice, Aizawa-kun. I suppose you can let me know if you need anything.”

There’s the sound of footfalls echoing lower as Toshinori leaves. Shouta keeps his eyes on the hospital door. He had only hummed as Toshinori gathered himself once more and left, hadn’t spoken another word. He thinks he can hear the hum of the hospital machines all around him, can almost feel the buzzing along his skin and the air is sterile but all he smells is earth, the earth that rippled and shifted around them.

“Well,” Aizawa says, shattering the illusion before it takes hold. He swallows once, twice. Tries to rid his throat of the gravelly feeling and lets himself slide down the wall until gravity hauls him to the floor, hard and unforgiving. “That’s was something.”

It had either been two hours or a lifetime before Shouta shifts from his position: one knee bent, the other leg extended before him; his arms had been wrapped around his knee, head slumped into the firm but sore cradle. It tugs unsightly at the stitches along his shoulder blade and back, the minute-hand wound on his arm aches even though he knows, realistically, that it is healed already.

He sighs as he stretches out both legs, shifts to stretch the sore muscles of his back. Tries to remember why he woke himself up as he clenches his fist and releases, clenches and releases. No sluggishness, full motion. It doesn’t seem to take too long for the motion to compete, over and over.

Someone had left a folded blanket beside him as he dozed, and beneath it he found his cell phone. His capture weapon had been piled together beside it, worn and stained with old blood.

He opened the cell phone and typed out a quick message before placing his phone on the tangled heap of his scarf. If the nurses hadn’t woken him to move to the waiting room or back to his own bed, well, Shouta thought, they probably lost the opportunity to herd him away _now_. With the message sent, he rotated his shoulders until his back cracked satisfyingly and then picked up the blanket.

* * *

On the bed in his dorm, Toshinori let the tears fall where they burn scalding paths down his gaunt cheeks. Rest, he thinks, and it sounds like Aizawa-sensei’s chastisement, it sounds like his old master and Gran Torino and Tsukauchi and _goddamn_ Midoriya and the world but all he thinks of his Nighteye.

He is, and was, a coward. He remembers hobbling down a hospital hallway so many years before, cold sweat dribbling down his forehead, machines dragging behind him. The cool touch of the wall was the only support he had in staying upright.

_Coward._

Sir Nighteye tells him _I can’t watch you keep doing this to yourself._ When he leaves, Toshinori doesn’t ask him to say. Barely keeps in contact for the scant years in between then and today.

_Coward._

It sounds so easy, fighting fate. It sounds like a challenge befitting a hero: fight this, fight them, fight everything in your path until you’ve cleared a way for the light. But there are things that can’t be beat and the inevitability of time and death are still there: looming over them all with cold hands over their eyes, gripping their throat. Blinding them of living when the first concern is making sure others _live._ It’s always save others before they save themselves.

It’s a truth every hero knows. It’s the price they pay forward: their lives for other’s. Save those that cannot save themselves and if you’re sacrificed in the end—

— _All Might, I leave the rest to you!_

But a heroic death still left its mark on the living, no matter who was saved. And they had saved Eri, they had managed to stave off the other death’s that Nighteye had sworn he’d seen, right? He’d thought back to his old sidekick’s previous foresight, the expiration date looming closer on his own death. He wonders if his passing or lack thereof is what has changed things. Surely if Nighteye had looked _this_ far, he would have seen his own death.

Unless Kamino _had_ changed things.

Had his continued living made things worse? Changed the future into something scarred and mangled like… well, like himself?

When All For One had been taunting him, Toshinori had been ready to die. He had spent years preparing himself for this as well as he could, and then Midoriya—

_Do you know why Shimura let you escape? Do you understand, Toshinori?_

He swipes at his tears with a shaky, cold hand; sniffs and raises it in the air, damp palm facing him. His long fingers quiver as he slowly clenches his hand into a shivering, clammy fist. He remembers the instinctive fear of history’s repetition as Midoriya watched him fight.

How it outweighed his sense of duty to death. Duty to his late master, and all the previous masters of One For All.

“The Number One Hero.” He says to the silence. It will be morning soon, and there is too much to do to let himself be stopped for even a moment. There is no time to think, to mourn.

(Only there is, that’s all he has left: borrowed time that keeps ticking away each day, mounting his failures and throwing casualty after casualty at his feet like sacrifices at an alter; gifts from All For One’s toothy smirk and burnt flesh tossed at the feet of the Opulent All Might, a figure borne of blood and disaster and the lives of those that perished before him. This is your legacy, All Might, All For One doesn’t say, a legacy of brutality and destruction.)

He unfurls his fist in the air, presses his fingers together to feel the drying tears between them. He has to face the students in a few hours, see how the other half of the operation for the day went, plus the student interns involved in the mission. He makes a shaky fist, then opens his palm again, again, again.

“A Symbol of Peace,” he muses, letting his arm slump onto the bed beside him.

 ** _Coward_**.

* * *

The morning comes slowly, staggering consciousness in bits and pieces. He thinks something must have woken him up in the first place as the first shock of wakefulness stuttered his heart rate but when the cloudiness of sleep begins to fade there is nothing remotely around him that could have startled him. Shouta feels the ache of sleeping on the floor with none of the support his personal sleeping bad provides. He isn’t sure exactly what it is that Toshinori told the nurses, but they had steered clear of Shouta’s space throughout the turbulent night and he finds himself grateful now as the fog of his latest terrors begin to drift away from his mind’s eye.

Beside him, this time, are a change of clothes and a semi-steaming cup of coffee. The note on the cup, however, isn’t in Hizashi’s writing; it’s in Toshinori’s. Wary and a touch confused, Shouta grunts as he pops his locked joints and reaches for the small stationary sticking to the cup.

> Yamada-kun couldn’t make it so he asked me to bring these for you as he knew I was on my way 
> 
> ⍝ ⍝  
> (๑ㅇㅅㅇ๑) 

He had even completed the note with a godforsaken bunny character instead of his name. Aizawa looked at the note for a second too long before shoving it in his pocket and collecting the cup without standing up yet. Was it even early enough for visitations?

It was too early to question everything. He drained the cup before considering getting up, grabbed the change of clothes and went to hunt for a free room to change in.

Once changed and a little more stretched—he could already hear Kayama complaining about their climbing age and weathered bodies, _god—_ to let his poor back and legs crack pleasurably, he made his way to the first floor to wait for his students.

He read all the messages on his phone and felt the bottom of his stomach drop. _Fuck_.

When he gets down to the lobby, the televisions are all streaming the same scene: a truck piled on it’s side with the incinerated remains of multiple cars piled around like a steel and burnt rubber graveyard. Images of Chisaki and members of the League of Villains cycle through the other half of the screen.

For a fleeting moment, he thinks of Toshinori. If this will become another regret on the man’s conscious, despite having little to nothing to do with him other than the presence of the League in this disaster.

But there are steps behind him and Aizawa has to school his face into passiveness when a small figure stands beside him, solemn.

“What a mess,” Miss Chiyo says with a sigh, “Both out there and in here. I see you didn’t take the doctor’s orders—or mine—seriously if you’re slouching like that, dear Shouta-kun.”

Chastised and a little chagrined, Shouta doesn’t turn to the older woman but nods with his eyes on the television screen.

“I went around a few rooms to help out,” Recovery Girl continues, “and didn’t want to wake you; color me _not surprised_ when you weren’t in your room!” She taps her cane against Shouta’s ankle, demanding his attention.

On the television, the news anchor is mourning the monumental failure of heroes and the police alike. Shouta drags his eyes away to raise an unimpressed brow at his senior, who clicks her tongue and hits his ankle harder.

“I’m being called away for another case,” Chiyo says, harrumphing from the younger man’s gaze. Shouta snorts lightly, but the healer continues. “An old associate of mine has called to help with some issues the police had yesterday. If I recall correctly, you’re familiar with Toshinori-kun’s detective friend Tsukauchi-kun?”

Shouta hums noncommittally, a little thrown.

“Didn’t know there was another operation going on yesterday,” he mutters with a shrug, trying to come around to find _why_ , exactly, Chiyo is telling him this. Beyond it being information about an _ongoing investigation_ , the wily older woman is definitely trying to hint at something or another.

“Well it must have gone either very well or very poorly,” she says, “just wanted to let you know, though, that I won’t be returning to the school with you today, at least. Do take care of our students, dear? And return safely.”

Shouta hums in agreement, eyes flitting back to the television. He can feel Recovery Girl’s sharp gaze on him for a few seconds longer before she pats his leg.

“If anything, I bet Toshinori-kun is being filled in as we speak about the other part of the investigation,” Chiyo says, hobbling away with an air of smugness Shouta doesn’t understand until she continues, “ although my friend assured me he isn’t officially on the case, Toshinori-kun _is_ part of the team that helped gather the intel, after all!”

* * *

Toshinori had meant to stay, really, but when his phone started chiming in the hallway, he beat a hast retreat away so as not to cause a ruckus.

And with good cause, it turns out. Listening to his old teacher fill him in on the mission and its relative success-failure is… frustrating. He found himself having to breathe with a hand braced against the glass of the hospital’s hallway to stop the steam from rising from his skin.

But the kids are safe. Kurogiri is in police custody and Gran Torino has already called Nedzu to see if Recovery Girl could be borrowed for the afternoon with the return of the task force.

When he approaches the waiting room, he can hear the faint tapping of Recovery Girl’s cane on against the floor as she walks down the hallway towards him, pausing only to give him one light pat on the knee before she continues. Shouta stands a few feet away in the lobby, staring down the hallway towards Togata’s room with a heavy slump to his shoulders.

There’s a school bag on the seats behind him.

“I tried to stop him,” Shouta says without turning, “but he went on anyway.”

“Should I go retrieve him?” Toshinori says with a slight tug to his lips. “Wouldn’t want you all to be late to the next few hour’s worth of inquiries and post-mission reports.”

“Ah… right now—”

But Toshinori is already walking down the hallway to where Shouta had spent the night, a sleeping sentinel. Shouta spares a split second to curse All Might and his ridiculous behaviors. He wonders briefly if Midoriya had just rubbed off on the man or the other way around before closing his eyes with a sigh.

When Toshinori approaches the closed door, the first voice he hears is Togata’s: a bright and cheerful sound wrapping around the dead man’s name.

“Nighteye… would smile a lot when he was talking with me…”

He shouldn’t listen. Shouldn’t look through the glass pane slicing into their privacy, but the light from the room is warm and the hall is so dark. He stands, frozen, as Midoriya cracks, a little, from the day before. As the pain of knowing Mirio Togata’s stolen destiny clashes with the weight of their losses.

His heart stalls in his chest as Midoriya—who scarred his arms and bled for his powers, who promised to help twist fate with him, who has earned the _right_ to be seen and called a hero, offers his quirk to the other boy.

He wonders if Aizawa-sensei understands the breadth of what he has offered Mirio Togata. How that conversation must have gone.

How the conversation must have affected the both, as the homeroom teacher slept there, just across the wall from where All Might stands, eavesdropping.

When he gets back to Shouta, they are both standing side by side and looking blankly at the television. Toshinori doesn’t remember walking away, but when he blinks again Shouta is watching him silently. He looks back and feels a spot of heat begin to touch his cheeks and turns his head to avoid the intense gaze. He wonders, vaguely, how long he had been standing there for, silent.

“S-Sorry,” Toshinori stutters, “I didn’t feel like er, well, intruding, I suppose. They needed the moment, I think.”

“It’s fine,” Shouta says at last, still staring at Toshinori like time is helping him peel back everything to see Toshinori’s thoughts. “Ochaco and Tsuyu are ready and waiting, Tamaki is getting through the last of his checkout and I believe Nejire is standing by with him. Kirishima is with Fat-Yan right now. Will… you be accompanying us back to the agency to finish the reports?”

Toshinori weights the offer with the news he just gleamed from Gran Torino and shakes his head before finishing his thought.

“I think there is somewhere else I will be needed for now, though I should make it in time to accompany all of you back to the dorms.” Toshinori says at last, finally looking at Shouta with an apologetic smile. “Nedzu is sending me to the precinct first, but I should be by Ni—well, the agency in a few hours to escort the group back to UA. Let me know—”

“—if we need anything, yeah,” Shouta says, waving off Toshinori, “sorry about, well, Hizashi throwing my errand for him on you, by the way. But thank you.”

This time it’s Toshinori’s turn to wave off Shouta.

“It’s fine, he needed a favor and I was on my way. Stay safe, Aizawa-kun,” Toshinori says, placing a cold but gentle touch against Shouta’s upper arm, finger pressing lightly where he was cut only the day before, and then he is gone.

Shouta places his hand on his own arm, holding the touch for a second before the heat of his hand replaces it completely.

He has a few hours of legalities and formalities to get through with the students, and then they’re heading back to the school. It should be a simpler day, all things considered. Between Fat Yan and Ryukyu, there should be enough Pro Heroes present to keep his mind from wandering, though he knows it will be a few more days before his senses dull from ‘high alert’ to ‘reasonable paranoia’.

He looks down at his phone to send Hizashi a message to raid his pantry and leave a can of cat food outside, when he rereads the messages he received this morning.

> **Yamada Hizashi:** Heyo, sent Mighty Boy with your stuff. LMK when you’re free to drink these worries away!
> 
> **Yamada Hizashi:** AND BEFORE YOU BITE MY HEAD OFF JUST KNOW
> 
> **Yamada Hizashi:** You two are too similar in that when you are in Sad Boi Mode™, the best medicine is something to fill your time
> 
> **Yamada Hizashi** : I should start y’all a club. I already came up with a theme song!
> 
> **Yamada Hizashi: [** **►______________| 0:15]**

He refuses to click the audio file on principle, and elects to ignore the rest.

By the time they have the student-interns and the other Pro Heroes sorted out and returning to the Nighteye Agency with other attending officers, it’s well passed the afternoon. There’s a sense of loss when they enter and Centipeder is at the center with Lock Rock.

They’re all a touch subdued, the lack of Nighteye and Togata weighing heavily on them all.

It’s incredibly late when they bring the kids back to the dorms. The two cars that had pulled up were the same kind Shouta recognized from the house meetings he had done with Toshinori what felt like a lifetime ago; though this time, the retired hero sat in the passenger seat, only exchanging greetings with the students and small pleasantries before succumbing to another flavor of silence altogether. Kirishima had been talking to Tsuyu intermittently between the lulls in the car as Shouta glanced down at his phone occasionally.

Uraraka had been uncharacteristically silent the whole day, looking pensive and forlorn. He doesn’t need to look at her to know why—it’s the same reason Tsuyu keeps giving him furtive glances throughout their evening of recounting their battles. This hadn’t been the first time she had to maneuver his not inconsiderable weight, although this time his Quirk had to save someone else and may have put Eri in danger, for all they knew. There were less broken bones—shattered _everything_ , really, this time.

While the others began to climb out of the car, Shouta made sure to hang back to allow Toshinori to walk the Third Years back to their dorms. Toshinori hadn’t even looked back, simply telling the two third years that he would be their escort before bidding the others a good night. Shouta sighed through his nose and tugged on his capture weapon with one hand while motioning to his students with the other. He made eye contact with Tsuyu and dipped his head towards Uraraka in a silent message the teen understood with a nod of her own, keeping their arms locked and slowing until they were the end of the group.

Shouta strode ahead to lead the group into the dorm, stopping just at the doorway to capture all of their attentions. He looked at all their weary faces and decided to be quick and succinct; knowing their classmates, the fussing and comforting would come soon.

“We will be meeting for makeup courses tomorrow, but I will let you all know after homeroom how that schedule will go. For now, think about the mission and the results, and focus on what you want to strengthen and work on, too. Remember that your Pro Heroes recognized something in each of you that made them comfortable enough to include you all, and your contributions made a difference. The police and your Heroes gave me permission to share future information with you, when applicable, but if you have any questions… know I am here for you all.” Perhaps it is the sincerity in his tone or the compliment, but they each start nodding with wide eyes. Satisfied, Shouta bids them a goodnight but gives a slight nod to Tsuyu who shifts to hold Uraraka's hand.

As the others shift to enter, Tsuyu brings Uraraka to one of the tables in the common area to sit. Uraraka heaves a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping, and refuses to look at Shouta directly.

He looks at the slump of her shoulders, remembers how she looked carrying Nighteye’s body, pillar and all. He wonders, vaguely, if her costume had been carted off with the police as evidence or if she spent the rest of the evening smeared with blood and not allowed to forget the near corpse she carried.

He wishes they’d had more time, during the cleanup, to really check in on everyone. Wonders if he’s going to have to go through the reacquisition forms for a new costume entirely.

“This is affecting you in ways we may not personally understand,” Shouta says, “but I do know that you have had something on your mind since the day of the mission. Asui told me that you were also in close contact with Toga Himiko during the mission…”

“It’s not just that…” Uraraka says at last, looking down at her hands. “It’s just—” she breaks off, takes a deep breath, but her fingers continue in their motions. She picks beneath her nails, the clean and tidy skin of her nailbeds. “There was so much we were able to do, but it keeps getting eclipsed by what _more_ we could have done.” She takes a composing breath and looks at the steady hand resting beside hers. “What more _I_ could have done. I… I was the one carrying him.”

Aizawa nods, a familiar curl of guilt weighing his stomach. It’s something he’s lived with since his own time in his internship so many years ago, a feeling he decided he wanted to spare other kids from.

A feeling he sees reflected in Uraraka’s downtrodden eyes.

“You did everything you could have done,” Shouta begins, “the responsibility lies with us. I’m not going to tell you to quickly move on, but…” He thinks of how slowly he had been to move, capture weapon looped around his fist when the rubble began to tumble towards Toshinori _who wasn’t paying any fucking attention_. He was the _last_ person to lecture anyone about _moving on_.

He shifts his seat forward to place a comforting hand on her arm and to raise her eyes back on him. “Take this time to think about what you want to do moving forward.” Uraraka nods slowly, her hand finding Tsuyu’s once more.

He’s glad he is here, despite the circumstances; glad that he can help in a way he hopes is beneficial. That Uraraka is here, pulling herself together, gathering Tsuyu’s calm presence and strength to aid her is something beautiful he wishes he had learned to do himself at her age.

But these kids are _not them_. These kids will be— _are_ —better than they would ever be.

He watches Tsuyu and Uraraka leave hand in hand to the elevators where he has no doubts that the others waited the few minutes for them to return.

It’s a long and tiring walk back to the teacher’s down building, but Shouta makes it with a mind full to bursting. He notices the shadow of a tall, lanky figure that catches up with him as he enters the main lobby, silent as well. They don’t speak, for which his is grateful, as Shouta isn’t entirely sure what would come out of his mouth.

Recovery Girl's comments comes back to haunt him just as they break away, Shouta to stare at his door and Toshinori to walk the few extra feet to his own.

“Yagi-san,” Shouta starts, and startles once he realizes he doesn’t know what he is going to say or ask.

_You’re retired so what are you doing investigating the League of Villains? Why is there a second leg of the investigation? They nearly took everything from you why are you letting them take the last years of your life? Have you done research for major cases like this before you revealed your powered-down form?_

“Yes, Aizawa-kun?” Toshinori says at last as the silence stretches between them. Shouta blinks slowly and startles when he realizes that he has been staring at his door this entire time. He turns at last to look at the bedraggled other man. _Without All-Might, I don’t know who you are. As All Might, I don’t know who you are, either. What kind of a man are you, Toshinori Yagi?_

“I… may not be able to make it to take the students to their license make-up exam tomorrow,” Shouta settles for instead, “would you mind doing me another favor?”

Toshinori chuckles, turning to his own door. “I suppose my offer to help out is still in the table, though I will be keeping an eye to make sure you don’t take too much advantage, _sensei_.” Toshinori smiles wanly, “I will make sure to let you know how they do, although I have no doubt that Young Bakugo and Todoroki will encumber to succeed now more than ever.”

“Thank you,” Shouta mutters, then promptly rushes into his room before he succumbs to any of the other things dancing on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t miss the way Toshinori’s cheeks had darkened slightly just then, at the... almost flirt? What the hell.

 _God_ , Shouta thinks as he thunks his head against the door from the safety of the privacy of his own dorm. He’s slinking his phone out of his pocket while muttering curses mixed with light gratefulness that he hadn’t word-spewed anything else on top of the hectic night. Day. Week.

Whatever.

He finally deigns to call in lieu of his usual quick messages and relaxes with he hears the loud crackle of his best friend’s voice testing the limit of his phone’s speaker with an emotive _SHOUUUUTTTTAAAAAA!_

* * *

Toshinori doesn’t seem surprised to see Hizashi when he makes it to the front of the dorm where the bus is waiting for them, but he does eye the hero’s grin for a second longer than appreciated. After the phone call from last night, Hizashi is feeling a little more playful than he would normally be, and seeing All Might there, ready to chaperone the kids is still _pretty_ damn rad.

“They’re late!” Hizashi groans out loud, “Doesn’t bode well for them, eh?” Toshinori hums noncommittally, face grim. Hizashi, undeterred, continues, “I’m assuming you know why I’m here, right?”

Toshinori snorts, opens his mouth—but Hizashi cuts him off before the man can say something dumb. He has that look on his face, the one Shouta would always get before he said something self-deprecating.

“That’s right, listeners!” Hizashi shouts, wagging a finger in Toshinori’s face. And sure, it might look a little ridiculous but the other man snorts and seems to relax so, like. Fair enough. “Shou-chan is a paranoid puppy, and maybe a little territorial. Territorial? Is that the word? Momma Bear-Sensei is a little on edge because his ducklings got too close to the fire, and with that pesky League to boot, so he requested a little back up for you. And that was too many animals in one sentence, don’t tell him I told you all that.”

Hizashi leans back and lets his tinted frames slide down his nose so he can make uninterrupted eye contact with the other hero. “He doesn’t do too well with collateral damage and young kids getting hurt,” he says instead and notes the way Toshinori straightens up. Good. “I know my dear Shou-chan likes to look like he doesn’t care, but there’s a reason he’s still a teacher here at UA on top of his regular hero duties, despite the thorn it may have become in his underground work.”

“I know,” Toshinori says, “It’s why he’s at the hospital right now. It’s why he still took the time to talk to the students individually after.” Toshinori smiles softly, and Hizashi’s grin dials down to something less manic and a little more genuine. He can hear Katsuki shouting from the dorm and Shoto’s calm voice beneath. Toshinori noticed, too, because he turns to face where the students are walking towards them.

“It’s why he asked the two of us to come through for him now,” Toshinori finishes.

Hizashi grins brightly, “Now you’re starting to get him!" He smacks Toshinori's shoulder, a move that startles the man into a single-step stumble, "Aw _yeah_!”


	2. Sanitization (Redacted, Need-To-Know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toshinori feels it like a wave, the echo of his own words somehow haunting the realization he may have just stumbled onto.
> 
> _"You’re a bona fide vessel now!"_
> 
> It sickens him. This can't be what he thinks it is-- but the path to the truth seems to be unfurling before him. After the morning with Hizashi, Toshinori now has leads waiting for him. Hizashi hopes he has helped, even a little, but what he really wants to know is why Shouta wants him to lie to Toshinori-- and why is Shouta lying to _him_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for descriptions of an almost-panic attack in the first third of the chapter.

It’s always a treat to hear Present Mic’s voice as he narrates the student’s moves, but even his chipper voice and borderline rude commentary is not enough to lift the heaviness clinging to Endeavor. Toshinori watches the students each present their individual plans, mulling over Endeavor’s musings.

He felt like there was something else there, something pressing in from his peripherals. The shape of something forming on the outskirts of his mind, like a silhouette of something he can almost see but just not quite.

“I’ve entrusted everything to Shouto,” Endeavor says, eyes tracking his son without really watching. “When I was twenty years old, I had already climbed my way up to the number two spot… and because I climbed that far,” Endeavor leans back on his seat, the heat radiating from his form intensifying slightly, “I understood almost immediately: I would never be able to reach the summit.”

There’s a pause while Toshinori lets the other man gather his thoughts, push forward. He is not a fool, understands that Endeavor’s competitive fixation was truly and wholly _real_ in a way the other heroes in the top rankings never fathomed. Even he, he understood, was blind to its absolute depths.

“If all I wanted was the title, I could have foolishly smiled to everyone like you and played the ‘crowd-pleaser’,” Endeavor smirks, but the tease is wiped back into a serious, considering look back at the students as the kids begin to systematically laugh and break down the examinee’s attempts at friendly overtures, “but that’s not what I wanted. I just wanted to be the strongest.”

“This… isn’t like you at all,” Toshinori responds at last, ignoring Endeavor’s following outburst. _Tell me, former Number One,_ Endeavor had asked when they sat, _what is the Symbol of Peace?_

He thinks of Nana facing off against a sure death, entrusting him with the future of One For All; Midoriya standing on top of a broken-down truck, roaring into the clean beach line; the woman stuck beneath rubble still begging him to fight despite his true form. He’s talking as he thinks back, remembering the young, quirkless student that didn’t know how to stay back, stay quiet, stay down.

“I know full well the kind of situation you’re in and what the world is saying about you,” Toshinori continues, “There are a lot of people out there who are comparing us to one another, but you and I are different.” Toshinori looks over at Shouto as the teen steps up to the children. “There’s no need to follow in my footsteps and become the type of symbol I worked to become. You simply need to find your own way. Don’t _rush_ to it.”

They’re both startled by Present Mic’s announcement of Shouto’s attempt. When Endeavor begins to yell his son’s name, Toshinori doesn’t flinch this time.

He isn’t surprised, either, when the kids begin to use their quirks against the license examinees. They watch together in silence as the kids unleash their powers, as the teens parry and stop the blows from reaching them.

When the building begins to twinkle with lights and the wind-quirk user gets going, there’s a flash in the air as Shouto’s ice slide manifests in the center of the stadium.

Endeavor takes a sharp inhale and Toshinori feels a smile, something genuine and different from the past few days, tug on his lips. With the sound of the kids’ whoops and cheers, the students working together to make greater slide challenges and seeing how they can join in, Toshinori takes a breath.

“For what reason we are equipped with our powers,” he says, thinking of the way Izuku asked if he could ever be a hero, the way Nana looked at him and called him crazy so long ago, warm smile and even warmer hand going to ruffle his hair, “Endeavor, the answer to that must be quite simple…”

Endeavor’s eyes stay on Shouto as he lights a flame to warm one of the cold elementary school girl’s hands.

It’s there again, though, like an itch. Like the memory of something overlaying the touching scene in front of them. Excusing himself for a second, Toshinori rises from his seat and starts for the corridor to start heading closer to see if he can catch the Shiketsu teacher for some information.

He turns, on the last step before the plateau, and looks at Shouto Todoroki: the scar marking the left side of his face, the way his white hair stands out stark against the bright red of the other half. Toshinori’s heart lurches in his chest and the room seems to sway without moving at all. Is he collapsing? No, perhaps it is the rush of _something_ that is running through his mind at such speed he cannot catch but understands, nonetheless.

His heart lurches in his chest; his lung, overworked, impossibly scarred, seizes. Toshinori’s hand flies to his chest, the other holding himself up against the wall. He breaths softly, exhales, tries not to rattle his chest as waves of dizziness wash over him.

He thinks of Nana’s back, the way her muscles bulged when neighborhood girls—around the age of the kids down there—asked to be lifted as they held onto her arms.

He thinks of Shouto, refusing to use his flames for so long. Thinks of the sort of endless training that honed the teen’s body into what it is now. Sharpened him into a sort of weapon.

He thinks of himself, mourning, trying to make it day-by-day through the final weeks at UA, beat to shit and vomiting on the floor of Gran Torino’s workout room.

He thinks of Midoriya screaming his victory, and the roar of crashing waves in response.

_We’ve barely reached the faintest image if the path that lies ahead, but you’re a bona fide vessel now!_

The scars on Midoriya’s arms. His fingers twitch as they remain resolutely supporting him against the wall, fighting the urge to touch the considerable scar on his side.

 _Vessel_ , the word echoes in his mind, imposing, horrifying, as realization begins to run icy through his veins.

A thousand images keep flashing through his mind’s eye, making the heavy miasma of guilt and disgust intensify exponentially. He fishes out his cell phone with a single clammy hand, mind counting in seconds to regulate his breathing and stop the ache in his chest. The pain in his lung and throat from the urge to scream, to fall into the throes of whatever was catching up with him began to overpower his mind.

He pressed a button, then another.

Naomasa’s voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t enough to break him out of his reverie. The worry when the other man gave a low curse brought him back from the precipice.

“Sorry,” Toshinori says at last, letting his head rest above his steadying hand, forehead pressing against the cool wall. “Sorry, I’m here I just…”

“I didn’t mean to,” Naomasa says with a huff, “I’m just. On edge. Sorry, Toshinori-san, is something the matter?”

“N-no, I wouldn’t want to raise any alarms,” Toshinori pauses, lets himself gather his mess of thoughts into something mildly understandable, “I was just thinking… would you be able to get me some files? Nothing that would raise eyebrows, or sound any alarms, just. Anything that would be available in the public record about criminals registered with mutation-type quirks that have gone missing let’s say…. Between three and six years ago.”

A pause on the other end, and Toshinori can already picture Naomasa’s confusion.

“That might be a lot of data,” Naomasa begins but there is another level to his hesitant tone, “and besides, well… between Gran Torino and myself, we think it would be a good idea if you took a step back from the investigation.” A second of hesitation and all Toshinori can hear are the clicking of a keyboard. “Now that the League has gotten themselves involved again—"

“I agree,” Toshinori says gravely, “I don’t—I know it may be too soon, but… but there is something _there_ , I just need the information. So long as you can get me at least the brunt of the information, I can sort through it myself. The minute I have something that can be useful I will be sure to let you know but, in the meantime, well…”

“You should be _resting_ and taking it easy,” Naomasa says with a sigh, “but I suppose there’s no harm in checking in on your hunch. The information is going to have to be very limited though, if we don’t want to raise suspicions…”

They don’t mention more; the detective is in the precinct, and the threat of more than one mole in the grapevine is looking to be a major possibility.

“Luckily for the both of us,” Naomasa says with laughter in his voice, “I’m technically on desk duty for the next two days or so. I’ll try to have the names and the initial reports to you by the evening, is there anything you needed in specific? Something I should be keeping an eye out for?”

Toshinori mulls it over as he pushes off the wall and begins to walk down the hall to descend a few levels.

“I was thinking… young criminals, multiple offenses… younger than, let’s say… twenty-three as of three years ago, with an eye on those with quirks that manifested in different manners. Keep an eye on those whose records abruptly stopped around five to three years back, with no word on whether they are deceased or not.”

There’s silence on the other end with the exception of fast typing.

“That’s still a total number of over 270 people, thirty more serious offenders and the rest are petty criminals. Robbery, non-violent crimes, things like that.” Naomasa confirms.

“It’s a good start,” Toshinori nods, “are there any cases where someone’s quirk manifested as multiple?”

“I’m not sure I catch what you mean?”

“I mean… take, for example, someone whose quirk manifests as extra strength.” Toshinori starts, partially explaining to Naomasa where he is going while getting his thoughts together as well. He slows as he realizes he’s walked closer to the lowest level, Gang Orca’s voice booming from within. The exam must have ended.

“The heightened strength would be their main quirk, but as they got older and their quirk began to get stronger, their quirk evolved to include a gigantism mutation element or hardened skin as a result of the body trying to protect itself from the main quirk.” Toshinori finishes.

“I think,” Naomasa says slowly, the clicking on his end intensifying, “I understand what you mean, a bit. So a single quirk, multiple manifestations, or someone who is listed as being a multiple quirk holder… no criminal record in recent years… no records of being deceased up to the time their records end…”

He let’s the other man’s words wash over him, burn out that sinking feeling that has been creeping over his skin since he heard the rumble of Todoroki Enji’s voice, since he looked at Shouto and felt the clarity deep in his bones.

“Don’t strain yourself too much,” Toshinori finds himself saying over his inner turmoil. “As I said, it’s just a hunch. Go ahead and email me what you have come up with, regardless of the numbers. I’ll let you know if I come back with anything noteworthy.”

“Alright,” Naomasa says, “take care of yourself, Toshinori-san. Let me know if you need anything. And although I know it’s futile to ask you to take some time off, considering everything these past few years, just know that everyone has their limits. No one would begrudge you if you took a few days to relax as well.”

“Well,” Toshinori huffs, approaching the Shiketsu sensei with the student sitting next to him, “a few days to just look over some records sounds pretty relaxing to me.”

* * *

Shouta is in the principal Quirk-Trauma doctor’s office, waiting for another specialist to enter for the meeting to begin. He had managed about two hours of sleep the night before—in total, not in one fatal swoop—and was feeling less than stellar about the day as each minute wore on. Hizashi had been texting him updates that became sporadic after his “THE MOOD IS FUNKY I GOTTA SAVE THE DAY” message.

He sits still, willing his leg to remain on the floor and not jingling.

He hasn’t been in a hospital since his own time at UA.

“We’ve set up a working schedule,” the doctor says, setting more papers inside of a folder before pushing the folder across her desk towards Shouta. “Including meetings with LTC Therapists, a Quirk specialist, and Quirk Counselor.”

“An LTC Therapist?” Shouta asks, and the doctor sighs as she rubs her eyes.

“Long-Term-Captivity Therapist. Someone to help the victim with the years in the captor’s care, and the confusion that can stem from living with someone that is torturing you. As far as we have been able to tell, she has no physical damage internally or externally, although we aren’t sure if we should credit this to her captor or her own quirk.”

“I see,” Shouta starts, “and will she be doing all of this from the hospital or…?”

“It was agreed by the police, Principal Nedzu, and the specialists here, that she should spend at least a few weeks here before being relocated to another place. Ideally, we want her to get comfortable and understand that she is no longer being held captive while assimilating her to society slowly but surely so as not to overload her.”

“Visitations will be allowed, then? She has gotten attached to the heroes that helped her escape, and one of them is currently staying at the hospital as well.” Shouta thinks back on Mirio, the way his eyes lost their despair when asking about Eri’s wellbeing. “It would do both of them good, I think, to be around each other.”

“I will leave that for the other specialists to decide,” the doctor says with a wry twist to her lips. “In the meantime, we’ve come to realize a few things about the victim—”

“Eri,” Shouta says,“ her name is Eri.”

“… of course,” the specialist says, “Eri has a strange quirk, unlike anything we’ve seen up to now. It’s… like a reversal mixed with a deconstruction quirk. Checking through her genetic information though, I found that neither her mother nor father had any record of quirks in their family line. Her quirk came as a mutation, an anomaly in their line. However, this could also simply be due to the secretive nature of the Yakuza from which they came from.”

“One of the heroes on the mission said that her power seemed to emanate from the horn on her head,” Shouta continues, “or something of that sort.”

“Or something is correct.” The doctor turns the screen of her computer around to show Shouta a series of photos, each time-stamped through half-hour intervals of Eri in her hospital bed. “When she arrived, she had used a massive amount of power that caused her to fall into a fever and she was basically comatose for about the two days she had been here. We’ve been monitoring her brain waves and she’s been showing signs of cogency, but for only brief moments at a time.

“Each day, we noticed a gradual decrease in her horn’s size and mass.” After the 8th hour image, the change is noticeable. It had been a gradual decrease, and the time-lapse photos caught the phenomenon. “It would seem, at least by our hypothesis, that her excess energy is stored in the horn and then unleashed when too much is stockpiled.”

Shouta lets a long breath out and taps a single finger on the folder the doctor had been compiling. She nods and smiles as he takes it and looks through the files.

“We’ve been told that you’re going to be a sort of guardian to the, well, Eri,” the doctor continues, “and with high endorsements, too: Nedzu, many police officers vouched for you, along with a plethora of Pro Heroes. We hope you don’t mind the background check—”

Shouta’s steady page-perusing stutters on the redacted copies of his background check, and he glances up sharply at the doctor’s stare.

“But it was necessary for Eri’s wellbeing. Being around an adult that is acting guardian and different than what she’s been around and has understood from the other adults she has so far grown up with is just as important as breaking her away from that. It will help her not only heal and move forward but also understand that what she considered the norm: the abuse, the unease, the lack of trust and promise of physical discipline and experimentation, are not only far from the norm, but something she won’t have to fear for any longer.”

“I understand,” Shouta says, his eyes passing over the first line of his page before shifting to the next.

_Born November 8 th, 2xxx to Junichi Aizawa [Quirk: ████] and Akeno Tokunaga [Quirk: ████]._

“When the LTC Therapist and Quirk Specialist come in, they can go more in-depth on how to help ease Eri into normalcy. In the meantime, we can go over ways to help Eri with some physical activity, her muscle mass, BMI, and weight are all well under the average for six-year old’s.”

“Of course,” Shouta says, and fires off a quick text to Hizashi before slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I’m all ears.”

* * *

The bus ride back is quiet and awkward.

That’s right, awkward. Katsuki sits in the back, Shoto towards the middle, with Toshinori and Hizashi taking flanking front row seats. Hizashi keeps typing on his phone and glancing at Toshinori not too subtly, which is all well and good as the former Hero looks like he has a lot on his mind.

“Okay—"

“Yamada-kun—”

They both pause, waiting for the other to continue. Eventually, Hizashi breaks into a wide grin and starts once more.

“I thought I’d have to drag a few words out of you! What’s eatin’ ya, I mean, besides the elephant in the room I guess—what’s up, All Might? Mighty-Man? Lay it on me, daddy-o!”

Toshinori laughs lightly, stretching out his legs into the middle walkway of the bus as he leans against the side. He contemplates everything he’s been going through in his head, the files that will be waiting for him when he returns to the school and decides to tackle another angle.

“Just thinking about the League, that student. I’m a little worried about how little has been investigated about the infiltration and, well… basically kidnapping of one of their kids.” Toshinori says, and although it is a worry it’s not what is primarily on his mind.

“I fell ya there, man. I haven’t had a lot to do with the investigation like you, and I guess Shouta-kun now, but I think it’s a good move connecting to Shinketsu High. There has to be a reason they were singled out too. I don’t think the extra anonymity of selecting a student we aren’t familiar with was part of their choice.”

“You think their teacher was wrong—that the use of one of their student’s identity wasn’t because we wouldn’t be able to notice that there was something amiss, but because they were infiltrating for another reason?” Toshinori asks for clarification, sitting up a little straighter.

“Well,” Hizashi says, spreading his legs as he looks towards the front of the bus, “okay, I get why he would think that. UA has had the bulk of the attacks, right? The ambush on USJ and then the attack at the training camp… it all seems to be targeted to students at UA. And the teacher they had—no offense to the guy, actually—nevermind. Full offense, I don’t think he knows his students as well as he thinks he does.

“and I know Shouta may seem like kind of a hardass, but he _understands_ his students. You’ve been around your kids long enough to get a handle on them, yeah? You can get their moods, tell when they’re not acting right. So this guy doesn’t notice that his student is missing for a few days?” Here Huzashi looks disgruntled, much to Toshinori’s surprise. “She has a pretty unique way of talking, Yagi-kun, that’s all I’m saying. So sure, they could have used Toga Himiko to replace the student to get to UA, but that’s a pretty big waste of time and a pretty important resource with a quirk like hers. There _had_ to be something else.”

Hizashi startles and looks over at Toshinori, a dazzling smile spreading across his lips.

“I mean! That’s at least what I think. I’m not all too big into the case or the League stuff, but when it comes to things like that—splitting resources, teaching, hell, just students in general… well—"

“Nonsense!” Toshinori says, waving his hand as if to dispel the idea. “You’ve made it this far as both a pro hero and a teacher! Obviously, there’s a reason for that. Especially your radio show, there’s a great amount of analysis of tactics and hero-studies in it. You actually made some good points I hadn’t even thought of.”

Hizashi’s grin widens and in a split second, it looks like he flushes a bit at the praise, too. “Strong praise, good sir Might. Thank you. Still, though, I guess that would still leave the question of _what_ they could have been doing at the school besides infiltrating the exam. They said Miss Utsushimi had been drugged for at least four days _including_ the day of the exam… so they had three whole days to do whatever it is they wanted to do. But _what?_ ”

The question hangs over them for a few seconds as the bus jostles and continues to lead them back to the dorms.

“It reminds me a bit of some past cases,” Toshisnori continues after the lull. “Some of the weirder ones you see every so often, ya know? I’m looking for… something and I pretty much only have a timeframe and nothing else. Trying to remember cases from almost five years ago is tough. It’s… frustrating, to say the least.”

“Oh, man,” Hizashi chuckles, “I cannot lie, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve encountered something along those lines. With the radio show and the school, the last few years have been a little cut and dry, ya dig?” Toshinori tries not to wilt, hoping the impromptu idea-throwing he was aiming for doesn’t just fall flat here.

“If you’re up for it,” Hizashi says as they start to pull up to the front gates. Katsuki is already starting to bark something at Shoto from the back of the bus, so Hizashi scoots closer to the isle to speak high enough to be heard by Toshinori but not the students. “I haven’t had a lot of strange cases recently, but I think when Midnight was starting off teaching at UA, a little before my first semester, she had a few odd cases she had to help on. She couldn’t tell me a lot about them, at the time, now that I think about it, but they were odd enough that she had to do some undercover work. It may be a long shot but she might be worth asking, all this was, what… some four, almost five years ago?”

Toshinori’s head whips up at that, heart in his throat. _It has to be a coincidence._ “Thank you, Yamada-kun,” Toshinori says, making the mental note to ask the next time he is in the office. It’s Friday, so they still have the weekend off before classes Monday and he’d like to get through the files waiting for him on his computer.

“Of course!” Hizashi chirps, bouncing up as the bus comes to a stop. He glances down at his phone one last time before slipping it into his pocket, and he doesn’t know why his friend is lying to him—and Toshinori, by proxy, but he’ll play along for now.

> **Presentation Michael:** Hey-o, didn’t you do some cases on weird shit some years back?
> 
> **Presentation Michael:** All Might wants to kno
> 
> **Sleepy-Man:** Why is he asking about that?
> 
> **Presentation Michael:** IDK ! Thinks it might be connected to the League.
> 
> **Presentation Michael:** I’m not exactly invited to see his conspiracy wall of strings and newspaper clippings
> 
> **Sleepy-Man** : You’re thinking of the Villain Factory cases
> 
> **Sleepy-Man:** Nemuri knows more about that than I do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than the first but I'm trying to get through all the nitty gritty; also, there's going to be some made up back story for Shouta's backstory, and we're finally getting to the fusion of the Vigilantes story!
> 
> Also, the differences in how the characters are named through their text messages is on purpose and not a continuity error lmao


	3. Scars and Bruises (And Other Colors On Our Skin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's more to grief than mourning. What people often misunderstand is that [grief] is not a state of being, it's a process. Somedays, remembering will hurt more than anything... and some days... you even forget to be sad. Sometimes, those are the days that hurt the most." - **Excerpt from All Might's Eulogy of Mirai Sasaki, the pro hero known as Sir Nighteye**

It’s a nice afternoon out: clear skies, a bit of warmth to offset the chilliness starting to settle in, and Shouta Aizawa is, of course, wrapped up in his sleeping bag on the old, salvaged couch in the teachers’ new office. It’s colder indoors, anyway, with the air conditioners running regardless of the outdoor temperature, and it’s an easy way to keep watch without having to watch anything.

Not that Shouta is keeping an eye out for anything at all. After the rest of the day at the hospital the day before, followed by a quick check-in with Mirio Togata, Shouta returned to the dorms and went straight to his own room to try to rest for a few minutes.

But Hizashi’s texts kept coming back to him. He didn’t like lying to his friend, but…

“If hybrid quirks are so rare… at least one had to be his, to begin with…” Toshinori mumbles to himself, the chair creaking as he leans back.

But there is something odd going on, and Shouta needs more information. Not _needs_ , okay, he supposes, but the distraction of whatever Toshinori is doing now, whatever rabbit hole the guy is chasing down, well. If Toshinori is trying to squeeze some information of some kind out of… whatever it is he is doing, then it would be important to keep an ear out for the guy. At the guy.

If he had already picked up on Izuku’s mumbling habit, then the kid probably picked up All Might’s habit of sticking his nose into trouble. An even trade between them, then, a mark of many hours spent together.

“… not in the database of known quirks,” the man continues, then pauses. The rustling of clothes and slightly less loud creaks tells Shouta that Toshinori has turned—presumably to see if he is still alone-ish, in the office. He tries to steady his breathing but knows that from Toshinori’s distance the man won’t be able to tell if he is asleep or not.

Reconnaissance at its finest.

After a brief pause, Toshinori’s mouse clicks once more, and his fingers begin to type slowly but steadily across the keyboard again. There’s no low muttering this time, and for a second Shouta thinks he may have been caught out. Still, he’s been laying around for probably two hours or so, choosing to enter when he knew Toshinori was going to take a break.

He feels his cell phone vibrate in his pocket and ignores the movement as Toshinori pipes up once more at last.

“That’s it—” the sound of a loud thump and clattering as Toshinori presumably gets up from his seat, “the-the Nomu, the one at USJ… what was his name…”

Shouta fights to not open his eyes, the ache in his elbow that never quite goes away—especially during the cold, making itself known. _Ah_ , he thinks, _that’s why he looked for so long._ And then, on the tail end of that thought, chilling him to his core:

_It was a person. Bland eyes that stared at nothing, exposed brain matter and stretched out grin-like beak with gnarled teeth. A person. Scarred arms, unbearable strength. A person._

He didn’t know. Shouta was told that the Nomu was a bioengineered spectacle; a creature made—but it **_would_** make sense, he just didn’t want to think about it. Between healing his pulverized bones and the physical therapy that followed along with learning the new limitations on his quirk and hero-work, he hadn’t _had_ time to think about it.

It was technically the beginning of the still-open case against the League of Villains. Toshinori shouldn’t have information like that on him, regardless.

 _Think, Shouta, think—what did they report from Kamino? Something about a warehouse, a trap… then **he** appeared, and there was destruction. Fuck, what did they **say**?_ But he couldn’t recall, not with the press conference going on that day, too, and he hadn’t been part of the investigation or the Hideout Raid Team, **_what did they find?_**

“That’s Right—!” Toshinori shouts, throwing himself back onto his desk chair, then, a little softer but still fairly loud: “Shit!”

It startles Shouta from his tumultuous thoughts, at least, but his eyes really do still hurt from the mission (god, had it really only been a couple of days?) so he remains in his half-dozed position regardless of the outburst.

After a few seconds of what he presumes is another “is Aizawa sleeping?” check, Toshinori clears his throat and seems to return his focus to whatever epiphany he’s found. The man doesn’t leave the trail of thoughts out loud for Shouta to follow this time, though, and seems more rattled at the prospect of waking Shouta than whatever it is he’s investigating.

For a second, hidden behind his hair and beneath the plush, bright yellow sleeping bag, Shouta lets himself wonder if Toshinori should even _be_ there, staring at notes and his computer for so long. Doesn’t the guy take a break, let himself mourn a little?

 _Hypocrite_ , a voice in Shouta’s head snorts, _you’re a terrible, terrible hypocrite and you are no one to judge how someone else copes with shit like this. Or are you gonna lie there and call yourself a paragon of healthy coping mechanisms, Mummy-man?_ And it irks Shouta how much the voice sounds like Nemuri.

He doesn’t know why his subconscious sounds like her of all people, but it does. When Toshinori gets up suddenly again, this time uncaring of the sound he makes, Shouta makes sure he really looks like he’s dozing.

Until the slowly echoing clicking of heels reaches him, then he understands; probably an unconscious sound he hadn’t realized he had picked up, the sound of Nemuri chastising him makes a lot more sense.

Toshinori shouldn’t be this excited, but his leads are starting to actually hint at something greater, something he’s on the cusp of uncovering, and Nemuri would have the information he needs. He hurries out of the office and down the hall, takes a right and—

Catches the Heroine jogging out the entrance to greet someone enthusiastically. Wilting a little, Toshinori decides to save his pestering for another day.

When he returns to the office, he is alone. Sighing to himself, Toshinori debates whether to get back to his files or pack it in for now. He contemplates it for all of three seconds before grabbing the back of his chair and plopping back down.

Besides, tomorrow is going to be another long day.

Shouta knows, logically, running away is not going to make anything easier. Especially using someone for a not-quite lie, and not letting them into the loop. Most especially when it is Kayama, who would see right through Shouta's bullshit excuse for lying. Besides, he needs to be ready to take the kids _again_ tomorrow and…

He is not running away: this is a tactical retreat.

Toshinori hasn’t been to a funeral in so long, it seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself after everyone that wanted to spoke. It is like the man planted himself in front of the candle-altar and became immobilized.

Shouta thinks suddenly, unexpectedly, about how absolutely lonely Yagi Toshinori must be— _is_ —by what he has observed. The memories flit through Shouta’s mind’s eye quickly, breathlessly, and for a second Shouta considers standing beside the other man in front of the candles. Yet… Shouta remembers himself, how it felt like to stand in front of one of his best friend’s graves.

_But you are not Yagi Toshinori, and he is definitely not Aizawa Shouta._

Shouta steps forward, one eye on the students listening avidly to Centipeder regale them with the first time he met Sir Nighteye.

He finds himself, still, standing a breath away from Yagi. An echo of their positions against the hospital wall. They’re quiet, and Shouta almost believes the other man hasn’t noticed his presence when Toshinori speaks at last.

“As pros, we’re no strangers to tragedy,” Toshinori repeats from his eulogy earlier; an echo of a start to an end, “and it feels like… they never end. I find myself wondering if my… continued existence has led us down a path of more bloodshed. A darker future.”

Toshinori clears his throat, glances down, and then looks back up at the photo of Mirai Sasaki amongst the candles.

“He had a vision of me, once, long ago: dying against a monstrous villain.”

Shouta thinks blearily of Nezu and Kan screaming at the television. Vlad rising to his feet, chanting and cheering. Crying out for Yagi Toshinori to overcome—not All Might, but _Yagi Toshinori_ to prevail.

He thinks of the woman trapped beneath the rubble as the camera zoomed in on her pained face. Too far to hear what she was saying, face marred with debris dust and blood and tears, the expression on her face spoke volumes; her voice was enough to clear the spell that had frozen all of Japan, but it was her face that remained with Shouta.

How, despite what looked like at least a broken leg and incapacitated before two titans, she still clung to _hope_.

Something in Shouta shifts, images and notions moving around; pieces clicking into place.

“You’re a man of logic,” Toshinori continues, oblivious to the tumult his very presence is throwing Shouta into, “tell me, Aizawa-sensei… is it selfish to wish to trade places with the dead?”

Shouta thinks of Shirakumo’s bright grin, his infinite patience for others. The drive to do good, no matter how small.

The heart—and drive—of a hero.

He thinks of Yagi Toshinori, fully bandaged with his arm in a sling (“all the bones in his arm almost shattered into dust,” Recovery Girl told them as Nezu and Shouta mapped out student homes and routes) and his tired eyes, offering to help with the home visits.

“They need to know that we will keep their children safe,” Toshinori had said, frowning to Chiyo. “They need to know—” and here, inexplicably and suddenly with a heavy gaze and grave tone, he locked eyes with Shouta.

And Shouta couldn’t, refused, to look away.

“They need to know that at the end of the day, we will put our lives on the line for their children.”

“Well _I_ recommend against it,” Chiyo said sternly, “but does anyone listen to my _very serious, well-educated_ advice?” She hit Shouta on the shin with her cane. “No!”

It pulled Shouta out of his reverie-pseudo-stare contest with Toshinori, at least.

“Do you think seeing you in this state will do anyone any good,” Shouta said, about a mile outside of his own body, and the disconnect was damn near palpable as he finished, almost as an afterthought, “it serves no one but your own ego.”

Toshinori chuckled a low, soothing sound. A balm Shouta, sitting in the same seat as he had been during the Kamino Ward broadcast, didn’t even know he needed. Not even the small wince the man-made took away from the relief.

“Or,” Toshinori drawled, finger scrubbing at the bandages covering his clavicle, just touching the jut of his collarbones, ”it’s another hard-earned lesson to both students and parents: _no one is immune from the dangers of hero work_ and, try as we might—and _god_ , do we _try_ —these kids are going into one of the hardest and most unforgiving professions society has to offer.

“Both the parents and the students need to see that UA is dead serious about teaching the next generation of heroes in a protected environment. We take their education and safety very seriously—they should, too.”

Shouta ignored the pointed feeling of Nezu’s eyes, far too sharp and all-knowing, on him.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Nezu said at last. “At this time, reassurances and liability are the most we can offer students and parents alike. It would help more than hinder and being useful helps both the situation and the parties involved.”

Shouta remembers: _thank you for your actions at the Kamino Ward_ between downing beer after beer. A timid man, reaching for conversation, and Shouta, prickling with unease as he was forced to see what the parents saw.

(He does not remember more than that and is partially grateful. He couldn’t rest his racing mind—couldn’t get the taste of bitterness off his tongue and drowned both in cheap beer, instead)

Shouta moves so his shoulder is pressed against Yagi’s arm and claims the man’s attention.

“I think,” Shouta starts, staring straight into Mirai’s eyes to ignore Toshinori’s intense stare, “even if it were selfish… you’re entitled to be a little selfish every now and then, Yagi-san." He swallows, refuses to turn. "You… believe that the good they could have done was unfinished. There are lives they have yet to touch, to save. Memories they were robbed of making. To trade with them…” Shouta pauses, unsure. He’s wading into familiar, murky waters.

“In times like these, I find it… easier to find other things worth living for. Fighting for, if you must.” Shouta back peddles with a shrug.

“And if that’s all you have? A will for others, and none for yourself?” Toshinori mutters, and Shouta finally drags his tired eyes to meet Toshinori’s curious, sad gaze.

“Then you keep going until you find something for yourself. A will of your own.” Shouta concludes. He watches in mute fascination as some of the misery lifts from the other man’s face; the angles softening a fraction, shadowed eyes crinkling in some unknown mixture of mirth and melancholy.

“A selfish reason to live, huh?” Toshinori says, turning back to the candles, back a little straighter than before. Shouta hopes it’s a good sign.

“You let me know when you find it,” Shouta says, and Toshinori presses his arm against Shouta’s.

Behind them, the kids break off into peals of laughter as Bubble Girl segues from Centipeder’s story into her own memories with Nighteye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saved this for the end because WHOOO these days are friggen wild, y'all, and before the world went to shit I was already losing my will to write (and low-key live) and I was working at W*lm*rt and half this chapter was written on empty WM receipts because I had no control over my life weeeeee
> 
> anyways i got a better job and its exhausting but I'm glad i can work during these trying times and I FOUND ALL THE RECEIPTS I'D USED TO WRITE OUT LIKE 70% OF THIS CHAPTER
> 
> buckle up y'all because I'm back on my grind and also the slow burn is burning up AND Toshinori has honed in on something! IN ONLY 3 CHAPTERS? Yes our boy loves a distraction! Also I didn't want to include a whole eulogy so blah


	4. Liar, Liar (It Makes Us Human)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aizawa just wants his routine back. Toshinori just wants to get to the bottom of this, slowly but surely, as long as he gets there. 
> 
> We’re all liars on one way or another: lying to others, to ourselves, lying by omission. Some of us are just better liars than others, it seems.

In the following week after the funeral, Shouta has seen more of Toshinori than he had in  probably the month before in its entirety.  It’s strange because Shouta  isn’t actively seeking the other man out, but  it’s like  he’s noticing him more often. When he leaves to see Eri, Toshinori is outside the first year Dorms with  Midoriya , taking a fighting stance, or waving his arms in wild gestures as he speaks to the  starry-eyed teen. 

In between classes the other man is still muttering to himself at his desk, sticky notes growing in abundance.  He’s taken to covering for Shouta at least twice already when  he’s called to the hospital or the police station, giving platitudes for the hero when he takes off without warning. 

It’s a nice  kind of strange , a good change from the past few weeks. Shouta has a routine well set up: classes in the morning, checkups with Eri from noon or one, depending on her morning, until the evening, then evening training with  Shinsou , the occasional check in with the PD, and if he can swing it then some sleep in between. 

It’s not  _ ideal _ , not really, and Shouta is feeling more tired than he has in years, but sometimes seeing the students succeed at a new move during their training recordings or watching  Shinsou be able to surpass a previous limit he had before they started training lifts some of the  weariness off  Shouta’s shoulders. 

Seeing Toshinori  bumble around during his off time when  he’s not doing whatever research  he’s delved into is nice, too, and it surprises Shouta how much even just a wave or nod from the other helps loosen the tension forming along his back. Of course, he  doesn’t admit this or realize it until it  _ stops _ .

As if noticing the other man has suddenly flicked a switch:  it’s a Wednesday morning, a  week and a half after the funeral, that Toshinori just. Disappears.

Not entirely, Shouta notes to himself bitterly, eying the shifting notes on the man’s desk.  It’s not avoidance if  you’re not around, right?  He’s being silly.  It’s the routine that is mixing him all up; the sudden change is not  _ big _ . If Toshinori is busy doing something else,  it’s nothing short of  _ not  _ _ Shouta’s _ _ business _ .

And Toshinori is, in fact, busy, having gone a stop too far on his trip to the library. His mind, although typically scattered and altogether everywhere and nowhere in particular, is honing in on the sight he stumbled onto two evening prior and  it’s _ ridiculous _ . It makes no sense, it means nothing,  it’s the same  kind of training all the kids on the hero course go through.

But it gives him a sour taste at the back of his mouth, something beyond the faint taste of blood. Something bitter, something he recognized. 

He  isn’t _ stupid _ ; Toshinori knows  it’s the direct result of his own training when he was a student. Something in him that says to push harder, faster,  _ go beyond _ , but the line between healthy limits and abuse had gotten blurred somewhere as he got older.

_ But you did it to  _ _ Midoriya _ _ , _ he thinks bitterly as he continues his steady walk across a green light,  _ or was that okay and Aizawa- _ _ kun _ _ went just a step too far? _

Shinsou was clearly doing extra training besides his general ed studies  in order to get into the hero course. Toshinori remembered him from the sports festival: purple haired,  gruff , and with the kind of drive that brought a tired smile to Toshinori’s lips.

He was also the trigger causing  Midoriya to see the One for All Vestiges. 

_ Maybe that’s _ _ the  _ _ crux _ _ of it, eh? _ Toshinori thinks to himself vaguely as he enters the building, raising a hand at the desk clerk.  _ With everything on your mind, plus the  _ _ additional _ _ connection... seeing the poor kid that wrecked just... with the timing. It feels different. Reminds me of-- _

God, that initial stab of panic when  Nezu offered the teaching position. To help choose a successor, but Toshinori knew it was still going to include teaching for some time before. Before... 

_ Before you were supposed to die? _ Toshinori sighs as he approaches the young woman that helps with the periodicals and other news section.  _ Admit it, old man... you were afraid. _

He might angrily shift the dial for the  periodical viewer harsher than he thinks as he hears the faint crack over his own thoughts. Taking a calming breath and casting a quick glance around—no one has noticed the sound, then, or his presence, which is perfect because the last thing Toshinori needs now is someone looking for a photo or autograph while his mood begins to sour  more and more .

Maybe it bothered him more than  he’d like because of how pensive  he’d been since the hospital note even two weeks earlier. How close everything was hitting to home; how  _ personal _ everything was feeling. And sure, it was a little childish to begin to avoid the other teacher because of his personal feelings, his own haunts, but it was hard not to look at Shouta and think of those hard weeks between Nana’s death and his escape to the United States.

He’s gone through March up to January without reading a single word. Trying to  contain his frustration, Toshinori closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  It’s hard to center himself but he tries anyway, knows without a doubt  he’s not going to get any research done today.  He’s been getting closer, too, which makes the delay just that much more bothersome.  He’s so  _ close,  _ knows exactly what  he’s looking for—just not  _ when _ . 

With another huff, Toshinori gathers his satchel and begins to make his way out of the library. He gives a raised hand goodbye to the receptionist, who returns it with a bright smile. His true form has been public for a few months now, and although he should be used to being recognized  there’s still a part of him that misses the anonymity his true form presented. It gave him time to feel—not normal, exactly, as some people would still  gawk and give their comments, but at least they were honest. 

It felt better, at least, than the forced admiration some people showed by sheer grace of  Kamino . He  didn’t want that-that  _ pity-respect.  _ It irked him more than the people that would stare and mutter to each other, call him names before the reveal. Before he lost the last  vestiges of One for All.

Walking his way back to the train, Toshinori continued his musings, noting the very subtly moving figure a few yards behind him.  _ And  _ _ that’s _ _ another thing _ , Toshinori thinks to himself, finally approaching the station,  _ I never needed a babysitter before, either _ .

He  doesn’t know  _ why _ Shouta is following him on his outings, especially with such a busy schedule, but he assumes  Tsukauchi put him up to it. The last  he’d spoken to his detective was barely a few days before,  Tsukauchi repeating his warning for some time off and to not dive too deep into whatever it was he was finding. It would only make sense, really. 

Shouta is not following Toshinori, and he wants to make sure that detail is noted. Underlined. Bolded. He is simply... 

… tailing him? Making sure the idiot  isn’t going to get himself into trouble? Sure,  let's go with that one. Point being, Aizawa Shouta is  _ tired _ . He’s had a good routine going and it was  _ good _ and if  Mirio Togata can look at him and say “gee Aizawa-san, that look on your face isn’t doing anyone good; you’re going to make Eri upset” with all the joy of a ray of fucking sunshine then there’s obviously something wrong with him for the kid to feel the need to say something.

And Shouta  _ doesn’t _ _ have free time for this shit _ but  apparently, he doesn’t need his extra sleep time after the hospital and before his nightly patrols/grading sessions because here he is. And it’s been interesting at least, watching Toshinori give up his seat for women and children and people that frankly look older but healthier than him, although even that isn’t fair because the man hasn’t been hacking up blood or wearing clothes that highlight just how  _ small _ he has become--

Shouta pinches his brow and releases a deep breath. 

Then: a commotion in the other train. Looking through the window, Shouta sees a man trying to  preen in front of Toshinori who stands steadfast in front of two school girls. He  doesn’t seem to budge as the man gets in his face, and other passengers simply look on. Toshinori, despite  Shouta’s _ small _ descriptor, is really anything but, and easily has a foot and a half over the other man.

The two girls, god,  probably younger than his own students, are pressed together on their seats, as if trying to hide behind Toshinori’s thin frame. The man continues to speak to Toshinori in  low tones , pressing forward.

And then Toshinori grins. Mutters something back, and still does not move.

Shouta understands when Toshinori switches something from one hand to the other: a cell phone, Shouta thinks, but  definitely not the awkward flip phone he has seen Toshinori use. Then Toshinori moves as if to hand it to the man, only to grip it tighter, tighter; Shouta can see, even from his distance and through the jostling how Toshinori’s hand finally hits the phone’s limit and the thing  _ cracks _ . 

The people in the space around him startle and look up and up and up at Toshinori’s crooked smile. The man, suddenly pale and  cowed , takes the broken thing and stays standing there until the next stop. He  seems to throw one last curse before hightailing it, and by then the spaces are getting  more and more crowded. Shouta presses up against the space next to the door, and through it all Toshinori does not move, standing sentinel for the two girls.

Shouta  doesn’t want to be curious. He  doesn’t want to know more, know why. He just wants to get back to his routine, please. 

He gets off on the stop before Toshinori’s and decides to take the rooftops back as the sun begins to set and darkness slithers its way between buildings to begin its claim of the city. 

* * *

By the time Shouta returns to the teacher’s dorms  it’s been at least three or four hours of patrolling.  He’s a little more relaxed, thankfully; only a few criminals were out tonight and they put up more of a fight than he expected  until the night eventually tapered off into something resembling calm. 

He had talked himself into, not exactly  _ confronting _ Toshinori, but at least asking him  what the hell was going on. It was the simplest way to return to his routine and get rid of the terse feeling shadowing everything he did. 

And, much to  Shouta’s surprise, when he enters the building Toshinori is there with Mic chatting in the foyer. Shouta ignores the pang of guilt that stabs him in the gut when he looks at the two and decides a tactical retreat would do for now. Besides, if he could find a villain then he could certainly hunt down a retired hero. 

They are neighbors. He  literally knows where the man lives. 

Except Toshinori  doesn’t let him leave; the minute Shouta begins to make his Slow but Great Escape, Toshinori glances up and excuses himself.

“Aizawa- kun !” The man says loudly, and Mic turns with a raised brow as Toshinori jogs over to the hero. Shouta meets  Hizashi’s eyes and shrugs, honestly confused.

“Ah,  er … uh, yes, Aizawa- kun ,” Toshinori stutters,  hand resting against his neck. “About uh , let-let me walk you too your room? ”  Toshinori asks, glancing over at  Hizashi and blushes when he looks back at Shouta with wide eyes. “Class!” He blurts, covering his face with his hand now, “I need to talk to you about something. About class. If-If you can, that is of course, you must be tired—”

“I am,” Shouta says steadily, hoping to end this tragedy now lest it continues, “ _ always _ tired, Yagi-San, but better now than never. I assume you know the way?” Shouta  can’t help but tease, though he makes sure to keep his face neutral. Toshinori nods, hand still covering his eyes and the spread of blush on his face. “Then let’s go.”

Toshinori, still nodding, begins to walk ahead of Shouta. Shouta takes the moment to look at  Hizashi with a raised brow that is only met with a shrug and quirk of lips. Shouta rolls his eyes to  Hizashi’s snort and quickens his stride out of the room to catch up with  Toshinori. He lifts his hand and  Hizashi raises his in a gesture of goodnight and goodbye.

He wishes every conversation can be so simple: gestures and history filling in the silence and meanings . 

When  they’re finally making a turn to their main hall, Toshinori stops much to  Shouta’s surprise. Shouta stops a few steps behind ,  curious and  actually tired . It seems like a prime time to put his plan into action, though—

“I am sorry, Aizawa- kun , about my… repeated absences this week. I know I offered to help you as much as I could during these times, what with Eri- chan and all your mounting responsibilities both within and outside of the school.”  Shouta’s eyes go wide as Toshinori bows slightly, bright bangs bobbing in the  space between them. “I’m afraid… I got a little swept up in something, as of late… and in response, I pulled away from my promises and priorities instead of letting you know as I should have. I apologize.” Standing up straight, it seems Toshinori loses the wind from his sails and hunches a bit, rubbing his cheek. “I, uh,  I guess I just wanted to let you know that my-uh-offer? Yes, my offer is still on the table.”

Shouta startles once he realizing  he’s been staring at the hand rubbing a prominent cheekbone. 

“Your offer… of course, Yagi-san. I understand, it would be foolish to assume your  offer would be on the table the whole time. If you needed time to yourself  that’s completely understandable. You  needn’t apologize for taking time for yourself. I think  e veryone here  would agree you deserve that much, at least.”

This time  it’s Toshinori that looks startled.  _ Tell him _ , Toshinori thinks to himself,  _ tell him you know. Tell him the truth.  _ But the idea of the truth is absolutely mind numbingly  _ frightening _ .  He’s spent his life being everything but Toshinori Yagi  it’s almost impossible to  _ be  _ Toshinori Yagi.

Shouta takes the silence as warning that  he’s gone too far. He  hadn’t meant that last part but he keeps picturing Toshinori  giving up his seat, giving crooked little smiles at children that point and loudly whisper  _ it’s _ _ All Might! Over there look  _ _ he’s _ _ taking the train like us! _ And the way he rubs his eyes after a few hours of looking over newspapers and the way his fingers slowly tap across a keyboard, hands much more comfortable with a pen and paper for someone so notorious for hating  paper work. 

“I don’t mean to presume—” Shouta back pedals just as Toshinori speaks.

“You -you ’re training  Shinsou , right?”

Struck by the seemingly non sequitur, Shouta pauses. Toshinori seems to wilt even more, somehow, and Shouta is more confused now than anything. 

“Ah!” Toshinori flails his hands between them, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean, of course,  taking a student under your wing is a noble and incredible thing to do, Aizawa- kun , and no doubt the student will be able to make it to the hero course—of course, that’s what I am assuming the training is  _ for _ ,  obviously it’s um, it’s none of my… business  pleasesaysomething .”

Shouta blinks twice before he can wrap his mind around the inexplicable shift. 

“I am training  Shinsou Hitoshi because he showed great drive during the sports festival. I felt that with more physical training and some training on his quirk, he could become a formidable Hero.  Seeing as I’m one of the only people on the faculty that has made a career of being underground, barring Midnight at the start of her career, it would behoove me to step in and lend a hand.” Shouta says  blandly , feeling part of his confusion give way to annoyance. 

“That’s-that’s... great.” Toshinori says, voice dropping low. The small smile on his face seems genuine enough, but Shouta still feels his hackles rise, for some reason. His entire body screams  _ defend yourself _ from a stuttered comment that needs no logical defending  _ from _ .

Shouta is tired of a lot of things, but the  dissonance between what  he’s thinking and what his instincts are screaming at him is one of them. 

“I understand that it may surprise you that teachers may also provide outside help,” Shouta says at last, “but given that we are helping students as they make their way into one of the most, if not  _ the _ most dangerous profession out there... sometimes that aid outside of the classroom is pivotal for students. I thought  _ you  _ of all people would understand that, given your...  _ relationship  _ with  Midoriya .”

Toshinori chokes, coughing into his elbow with surprise. “O-Of course, Aizawa- kun ! I, well, I meant nothing by it. You will definitely build young  Shinsou into a formidable hero!”  There’s a pause, as Toshinori contemplates something and Shouta feels his defensiveness drift away. “I’m just, well... “

“...well?” Shouta continues, curious as Toshinori’s thoughtful gaze looks through him, “Yagi-san? If you have something to say--”

“I hadn’t thought of being a teacher, was quite... apprehensive at the idea, actually.” Toshinori blinks, coming back to himself in bits and pieces. “I hadn’t even thought about my men—my own teachers until  Nedzu offered me the position. It’s quite easy to overlook the mark your teachers leave on you until you’re in their shoes, learning from their mistakes, and trying to do better by your students than they did to you.”

Shouta, shocked at the admission and terribly insightful comments, only looks away for a second before responding. 

“It seems, then, that you are finally taking your position at UA seriously.” Toshinori looks at him with wide eyes, and Shouta fights down a small smile. “That’s good. Even better for the students.”

“Ah, yes, well, uh, that’s-that’s why I mentioned  Shinsou ,” Toshinori says, rubbing between his brows, face warming up, “I think it’s great that you’re aiding him. But because of, uh, that, know  _ I am here _ for, uh. Extra help. In case you need it! Not that  I think you are doing a bad job. In fact,” Toshinori smiles, hand covering his eyes as he dips his chin down, “I think  you’re doing amazing, Aizawa- kun . Just as  you’ve told me,  don’t forget that you have m-us, you have us to rely on as well.” Probably considering his job of shaking up Shouta complete, Toshinori offers him a goodnight before retreating into his room, closing the door with a soft click. 

Toshinori thuds his head onto his door a few times, trying to remember how me managed to make Naomasa his friend because he is  _ terrible at it. _ He remembers the look on the detective’s face when Toshinori sat with the cat he had saved on his arm, shirt untucked and terribly buttoned to reveal the costume underneath. 

Apparently, he doesn’t _ make  _ friends; they tend to take mercy on him and stick around for one reason or another.

Probably to make sure he is a _contained_ mess.

Shouta walks into his own room, pensive. He wonders vaguely what kind of teachers Toshinori must have had during his time in UA; most teachers stayed on board for a few years but he can’t think of any that came out while All Might was becoming a great Hero in America and then nothing of note when he returned to Japan.  Generally, the teachers would gain some  modicum of attention for aiding such a hero as they rose through the ranks. Had they all passed on before  Shouta’s time? It  couldn’t have been possible:  Shouta had begun at UA only a few years after Toshinori was peaking his career in America. 

Who helped Toshinori become the Pillar of Strength? Who taught the Number One what he knew, how to prioritize, how to angle a fight?

Cracking open a can of dark coffee, Shouta takes a seat in his bedroom against the wall and next to his bed. Toshinori had said part of teaching had been trying to do better by the students than their own teachers had done to them.

_ A quirk the other students fear _ , Mic had said solemnly that day during the sports festival,  _ but he did good and they supported him—listen to that crowd! Y e a h! _

His mind had focused on that first phrasing and even while out of his mind on pain and aching  everywhere and had approached the student after the round and when his classmates left him to get changed. 

“What did you learn?” Shouta had asked, and  Shinsou’s face twisted before he cast his eyes downwards. 

“Once the kid knew about my quirk, the match was over. I spent more time trying to egg him on to use my quirk when I could have tried  actually fighting and getting him to slip that way, as well, although I would have been at a bit of a disadvantage. I heard about him before— Midoriya Izuku . The only kid that got into the hero course on rescue points alone and broke half his body.”

And Shouta, blinded by pain and the awkward double vision of his own first Sports Festival, offered to help  Shinsou if he could keep up with his course load and extra training. 

* * *

Two days later,  half wondering if  he had felt this level of bone deep exhaustion when he was doing his full time patrols and half wondering what was going on with  Hitoshi.

It  wasn’t that something looked  _ wrong  _ with the kid, but by this time into their training he  didn’t have to reposition the kid so damn often into proper position. But  Shouta was still feeling out of sorts, despite Toshinori returning into a sort of fixture the past two days, and the added  aggravation was  grating on already frayed nerves.

Grabbing the sloppy,  _ clearly telegraphed  _ left punch thrown his way,  Shouta used the momentum to turn his body, hands allowing the first to sail by before throwing the kid entirely over his shoulder.  Shinsou landed with a hard  thump and ‘oof’ before staying still and panting on the ground.

“I don’t know what has you so sloppy and exhausted today,”  Shouta says, and ignores his inner  Nemuri that’s  crowing at the irony, “but you can’t  properly train like this. Go to your dorm. Tomorrow we will have a rest day but be back again the day after.”

Shinsou , clearly biting his tongue,  doesn’t resist.  Shouta sighs at how much he sees himself—the younger, quiet, down on himself teen—in  Shinsou . 

“All-Might sensei...”  Shinsou starts and  Shouta feels his hackles rise. “No, wait, let me start. I’ve been doing extra training sessions in the morning.”  Shouta sighs, moves to stand next to the teen instead of in front of him. “And I don’t know if All Might sensei saw me in the morning or something, but I’ve been trying really hard to get into the hero program and I know you said I had to be patient but—a lot of my classmates, the ones that were scared of me, they keep cheering me on saying I can actually do it.

“And I don’t know if he saw me in the morning or something, but he asked me about how my training was going and I said fine but he kind of just stared and I told him about the extra training.”  Shinsou says in one last burst, throwing an arm across his eyes. 

“... I see,”  Shouta says, letting the boy get his thoughts in order while also taking stead breaths to calm himself.

“He didn’t, uh, didn’t get me in trouble or anything,”  Shinsou adds quickly, as if sensing the doom radiating from the hero,” but he did say that I should tell you. If anything, it would be important because it would  probably throw off your training regime and then he went on a little bit of a  tirade about proper  eating and stuff. So I was distracted because, well,  yeah , I am tired but also because I didn’t want to make you mad and for the training to stop but  I guess it stopped anyway and--”

“I’m not going to stop training you just because you... trained behind my back.”  Shouta grumbles,  maybe to put them both out of their misery. “Though if you want to continue in the morning, let me know what training you’re doing so I can change the training schedule around and give you actual working exercises.” But even as he is speaking,  Shouta is calculating. How many days ago had it been when Toshinori stopped talking to him, again?

Then:  _ ah _ _.  _ A spike in annoyance, and then a trickle of anger.  Shouta knows where Toshinori will be tonight, on a favor, and  maybe it’s time to clear the damn air.  Shouta sighs and sits on the grass next to  Shinsou , who glances over and continues speaking about what  he’s been doing on his morning trainings.

Being an adult,  Shouta’s thoughts boil down to, is  annoying and cumbersome and made harder when people shun logic and shy away from the things that matter. The things they want to say.

But  he’s scheduled for a patrol that night, and Toshinori offered to take some exams off his hands a little after training was supposed to be over. He supposes, as he sends  Shinsou to his dorm early with instructions to wait for his training email before going out in the morning, that it just gives him time to compose his thoughts better for later in the day. 

It would do no one any good if he starts off the favor with confrontation and judgements. 

When Toshinori knocks on  Shouta’s door and the man in question opens it about an hour after sitting outside with his pupil,  Shouta is calm,  clear-headed , and composed. 

“I don’t see why you feel the need to project whatever it was you projected on the students,”  Shouta starts and knows, immediately, that he is not calm,  clear-headed , nor composed, “but if you have issues with whatever training I give the students, even students not in the hero course, then speak up to me. Tell  _ me _ whatever grievances cross your mind instead of acting like a  petulant child.”  Shouta simmers down a little, watching as different emotions cross over Toshinori’s face: anger, confusion, frustration before settling into something akin to annoyance. 

“I understand that you think I believe the world revolves around me,” Toshinori says gravely, “and I would like to tell you how mistaken you are but no words will change your judgement on this, of me. I have no grievances over how you train  Shinsou Hitoshi, nor the students of Class 1A. Any misgivings I had, anything—if I had approached you without  distancing myself, I would have been overly personal, unprofessional, and ill-suited to talking about training in any form if I had come to you like that. In taking distance myself, I was able to separate my own personal feelings from what I saw, and then realize that I was being foolish.”

“These students are not you,”  Shouta says, feeling off-kilter. He  hadn’t meant the outburst, had tried to take the time to calm himself after following his own personal timeline. He knew what Toshinori must have seen  almost five days earlier, and figured the other man knew that he knew.

It was a lot of knowing without  actually knowing .  Shouta can feel a headache coming on. 

“Of course not,” Toshinori  scoffs as if  Shouta just claimed the sky was red. “They’re better."

There’s an awkward pause as  Shouta feels the urge to apologize, but bites the inside of his lip. Toshinori seems to be expecting something-- _ what  _ _ though _ _?-- _ but sighs with slumped shoulders when  Shouta remains quiet. His knuckles are white against the door with how tightly  he’s holding it.

“I tried to apologize to you about this the other day,” Toshinori starts, “but I didn’t want to... alarm you. As heroes we  don’t speak about the  things we’ve lived  in order to get through with daily life, and as teachers we are supposed to, I think, do things better so our students  don’t get stuck the way we do. When I saw  Shinsou like that, just... clenching his stomach and retching with you standing over him, it reminded me of my own training. And you were not  _ you _ , and it just. Muddled things for me, I suppose, especially with everything happening. Old age, I suppose.” Toshinori breathes out heavily, eyes distant. 

Shouta knows he has messed  up, had known from the moment he opened the door and his calm façade flew out the window. But now, looking At Toshinori’s slumped shoulders, the way the man looks equal parts disappointed and tired but  hasn’t just left and instead offered  _ more explanation _ , he feels more of the breadth of his demands, of his unfettered emotional attack.

“I...”  Shouta starts, and wonders why he keeps choking on an apology. “I suppose I was more upset with your disappearance over the week than I let on to believe.” Toshinori looks at  Shouta in surprise. “More bothered than I thought I was, as well. That was... uncalled for.” He sighs, emotionally drained already. Why was everything so  _ exhausting _ ?

“I understand,” Toshinori says, smiling weakly. “I can take the exams and get out of your hair now,  Aizawa -sensei. It’s no bother.” Mindlessly,  Shouta hands over the stack he had ready beneath his arm and Toshinori offers a small ‘be safe’ beneath his breath as he turns and leaves.

Shouta closes the door and  thunks his head dutifully against it. Why couldn’t he just apologize? After a few minutes like that: slumped, tired, head against the door and  weariness oozing out of every  pore ,  Shouta comes up with the perfect apology.

It may come at a cost, but  Shouta thinks about how shocked Toshinori looked, how resigned when he said that  Shouta would never change his mind about what he thought about Toshinori, and knows it’s time to bite the bullet and call in for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imsosorry 
> 
> So I had this plotty monster timeline down and then Hirokoshi came out with the chapters last month and I got so upset 'cause damn I had fan-theories and they kind of came through but they're explored in this story
> 
> and then I said wait but I want my slow build dad-love so I came back to finish what I started haha sorry for the wait!


	5. And Those Secrets that You Keep (Let Them Tear You Apart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouta knows he wants to do better but it feels like every chance he gets--something else comes up. How odd, he thinks, to be the teacher and still feel like that student trying to find his way. 
> 
> He does not believe in destiny or fate. He believes in those that carve their way out in life, forging their own path... but why does this feel too coincidental? Too _planned_?

Kayama  Nemuri is many things: a heroine, an excellent friend, the  _ best  _ teacher, a titillating lover, and no she is not waiting to someone to come along to settle down at some point, and sure she may wax poetically and mope like there’s no tomorrow every now and then when the mood strikes, but that mood is very rare, okay? 

Okay. 

Anyways.

Kayama many things, and many of the facets of her being are always on display: her lascivious attitude and love of youth are only a minor fraction of who she is as a person. The one thing she is above all else is  _ patient _ . Between Shouta whom hardly speaks and Hizashi whom speaks about everything  _ except  _ what’s important, patience has been a skill hard driven into Kayama out of  necessity . Oboro had been a decent in-between, always talking but at least the teen had kept the important bits sprinkled throughout his happy chittering. 

She is more surprised than anything at the knock on her door so late in the afternoon and thinks she does a pretty good job of disguising it as she opens the door and allows Shouta to come in. 

“Shouldn’t you be heading out on patrol?” Kayama finally asks once it seems  Shouta isn’t going to say anything, opting to stand in the threshold of her own teacher-dorm. “Did something happen?”

“I...”  Shouta starts and pauses, clearly choosing his next words carefully, “I have a favor to ask of you. Do you still have any copies of your mission a few years back, the undercover one before I left for my own?”

_ Before you finally convinced me to come here to teach?  _ Shouta doesn’t say but Kayama hears nonetheless. She tries thinking back—it's been at least five years, she thinks, maybe more, and Shouta’s last long, undercover mission had been the one with the Crab Girl or something.

“Oh!” Kayama says, startling Shouta, “I think I know the one you’re talking about—I can check through my files, of course, but Shou-chan... you know I have to ask...”

She  falters at the strange look on Shouta’s face, something between the usual mostly blank expression and something torn, broken. 

But, the way she did when they were teenagers full of dreams and potential, she waits. She waits for him the way she has waited all these years. 

“I... messed up.” Shouta grumbles, and Kayama knows it isn’t the full truth but at least  it's part of it. “I think that file might help out, a bit.”

“Okay,” Kayama says, slipping out her phone to type out notes for herself, “have you tried saying ‘sorry’ like a grown boy or did you assume case work was going to help get you out of whatever hole you dug yourself into with Yagi-san?”

“This wasn’t something I could actually apologize for,”  Shouta says, and then backtracks, “and who said this had anything to do with Yagi-san?” 

“Something along the lines of Yamada- kun texting me about cases around that time,  ‘cause Yagi-san wanted to look into them for some reason. Also, is there a reason you’re lying to Yamada? Because that wasn’t even a good lie, and you knew for a fact that the minute he asked me I was going to know. So?”

Kayama sighs at the pinched look in Shouta’s eyes and walks into her kitchen, knowing fully well her old friend is following her in bitter contemplation. She hits the coffee maker on along her way to lean against the counter, waiting.

_ Always waiting _ ,  Shouta thinks,  _ and I never have a good enough answer. _

But he knew the price of this information when he saw Toshinori’s shadowed, disappointed eyes. When the other man turned around, tests tucked between his chest and forearm, open in a way  Shouta could never be around others. 

He didn’t owe anyone anything. 

He owed Toshinori at least this much. 

He owed Kayama  _ at least _ the truth. After all this time, after years of waiting and checking to see if he was at least alive and some semblance of okay.

He couldn’t even fathom how much he owed  Hizashi , counting between days the lies and half-truths he fed his supposed best friend since they’d graduated UA, since they went off separate ways as if space was all  Shouta would need to overcome. It hadn’t hit him until he was sitting while the group of people that were brought together by circumstance and tragedy with the kitten between them and dreams for something better that he finally felt like he was awake. Like he’d been treading waters in the rain for so long, understanding that he had to stay afloat but blind to the horizon. 

The sky had cleared.

“After. After  Oboro died,”  Shouta says and tries not to hate how surprised Kayama looks, “I assumed his death was on me. On my inaction. On my... lack of drive. So, I compartmentalized: I couldn’t go back and save him, so I decided my only use was doing what I  couldn't then and just. Fight the villains that relied on their quirks to feel powerful. I trained until I bled and slept when I was too exhausted to stay awake because at least then I wasn’t dreaming. 

“Kayama... I pushed you all away, and I watched Yamada look after me as I kept pushing and pushing myself and all of you. Look, I’m not exactly good, at this. I’m always surprised that you all stayed around long enough to convince me to come back here, after everything. But I hurt Yamada the most—and I know it hurt you, but not the same way. I’m not... I’m not proud of who I was, of the things I did, then.”

Shouta looks like it hurts him to say it, but Kayama  doesn't try to  interrupt . He seems like he needs to say this, feel the pain the way he felt the capture cloth stinging his knuckles in the UA practice grounds. 

She wonders if he sees this as healing, if it is helping him. It has to mean something. 

Kayama hopes it means  Shouta is truly healing. 

“I can’t be honest with Yamada about this. I hurt him too much then, and coming back... things have been better. I’m trying to do better, by him. By you. I knew asking you for this favor would make us talk, as much as it pains me. You deserve this much, at least. The truth, I mean.”

Kayama hums and lets the sound of tinkling water fill the thoughtful silence between them. She opens her mouth and is grateful—and surprised—when a loud meow interrupts her as she wasn’t sure if she was going to say.

Shouta’s face when he looks down at the full-grown tabby make her pause and smile sadly.

“You-you brought him,”  Shouta says, torn between looking at his friend and the cat. “I didn’t think you would bring him with you when you came to the dorms.”

“Well,” Kayama says, fishing out two mugs while Sushi paws at her and does his best to trip her up. “I did say something about how it would take more than one person to care for our little Sushi, didn’t I?” She looks at Shouta’s stunned expression, voice softening. “Look, I could call you an idiot all day long—and someday I will, okay, because you deserve it—but I know you beat yourself up enough for all of us. How about this: you have this conversation with Hizashi yourself, soon. We know how you are, Shouta, and part of the reason we’re so patient is because we understand you. We may not always get it, but we understand regardless.” She nudges the mug towards Shouta again, an unspoken order. 

“You never stopped sending me photos,” Shouta says at last, looking at the cat with infinite sadness in his eyes. “Even after  everything .”

“Of course not,” Kayama says with a snort, “like I said, we don’t always like it, but we get it. But please talk to Hizashi, because he knows that you’re lying and with everything going on... it has actually started to worry him. And just because I can tell you’ve used up all your emotional energy for the week, I’m not going to wheedle you about Yagi-san, but know that it’s coming. No blacking out and talking about him while thinking he’s a Buddha statue is going to save you this time, Shou-chan.”

“I can’t believe you’ll still lord that over me—I can’t even remember it!” Shouta sighs, leaning back against the counter, eyes still following the cat. 

“Then maybe don’t get drunk to work up the courage to thank him for Kamino!” Kayama cackles, pouring out some coffee for the two of them. “Look, we’re all adults here. Sometimes it’s easier to just use your words than to do all this work for something like an apology.”

“It’s not just that,” and here Shouta hesitates, but with everything going on he can at least be sure that Kayama isn’t their mole, so he continues, “I think... I think Yagi-san is honing in on something, something to do with the League of Villains.” Kayama hums to show she’s listening as she digs around the pantry for a can of cat food. Shouta picks up the mug and dabs a spot of creamer before taking a draft. “I think this might help him. And I will talk to Hizashi—not soon, but I will.”

Sushi starts mewling as Kayama pops open the can and begins scooping the fishy mush onto his small bowl. 

“Alright,” Kayama says, “I’ll get that file for you. If I recall, Pop and  Crueller were involved, are we going with a partial-redacted or just full report?”

Shouta takes another deep drink of his coffee, contemplating. “It should be okay to keep their names in it,” he decides, “I don’t know where this will pan out, but it shouldn’t put any of them in his sights. I... I should get going. It’s looking to be a long night.” He approaches the sink with his now empty glass and Kayama shoos him away with a flapping hand. “And you know even after all this time he hates when people call him that.”

“I'll try to have everything ready by tomorrow, did you want me to leave it with you or just give it to the big guy?” Kayama asks, leaning down to give Sushi a pat on his back as the tiny monster chows down. “And... be safe out there.”

“I will try,” Shouta says, and it’s hardly a promise but Kayama more than anyone understands, “and... I’ll handle it. Just leave it near my door when you can, there’s no rush.”

Kayama snorts as she leads Shouta to the door, “I mean, I wouldn’t rush if I knew you’d put on your big boy jumpsuit and apologize up front. But alright, I’ll leave it to you, then.” Shouta turns around a step outside of her door and hesitates. Kayama watches Shouta curiously as he seems to mull something over.

“Thank you,” Shouta says at last, still not looking at her, “for everything, Missy, and I’m sorry. I know I needed the kick to get my shit together but... I didn’t have to push you all away to get there. I know it hurt you to see me like that, too, and I’m glad you were stubborn enough to get me here.”

And then, before Kayama can say anything, he’s gone. 

Kayama sighs as she closes the door, happy at her friend’s progress and so unbelievably afraid.

Her intuition is telling her that something’s amiss—something... isn’t right. And it’s rearing  its ugly head around the corner fast. 

She looks down at her phone, at familiar numbers she has only texted sporadically over the years, thinks of Shouta’s face as he opened up minutely and painfully, and knows that this decision rests on her.

She hasn’t touched her coffee and knows, regardless, that she will not sleep tonight.

Midoriya hasn’t touched the subject since the events in a disgusting alley, since they were sworn to secrecy and legal documents, but seeing Tenya sitting alone at a far-off table in the communal area of the first floor of the dorms makes him pause. He recognizes the form in front of his friend, and decides that maybe sticking his nose in this one is important.

“Are you planning on visiting your brother?” Izuku asks, taking the vacant seat across from Tenya. “I know... it’s been hard, after... that night...” Izuku trails off, making sure his voice is as soft as the light above them.

Everyone else is already in their rooms, but  Occhaco had mentioned Tenya looking off, a bit, and Izuku hadn’t seen him retreat to his room earlier.

“I don’t... it’s not that I don’t want to see him,” Tenya says, “I just... after everything, how can I look at him and everything he stood for knowing... everything I did that night?”

“You look at him the same way you always did,” Izuku says with a shrug, “like a hero. Like your older brother.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Tenya laughs, eyes downcast at the paper like it holds all the answers.

“You are the one complicating this,” Izuku retorts, voice hard, and Tenya glances up in surprise. Midoriya leans forward and touches a single scarred finger to the form. “Your brother  _ doesn’t know _ . All your brother probably wants is to see you, and talk to you, and have your support. You know you don’t have to take the name  Igneum if you don’t feel worthy of it right now. Then go see him, and keep doing better until you do.”

Tenya lets out a breath through his nose, slumping into his seat. He meets Izuku’s eyes and for someone so composed, Tenya only looks lost and shattered when it comes to this. 

“That easy?” Tenya whispers, exhausted.

“It can be,” Izuku says with a shrug, “if you want it to. You always punish yourself the harshest. I don’t see why you have to punish your brother in this, too.”

Tenya completely deflates, pinching the bridge of his nose and dislodging his glasses into an awkward angle. Izuku pretends not to see the tears glistening in the glow of the light above them and waits until Tenya is ready to continue.

“He’s-- he hasn’t been alone, at least,” Tenya says, now covering his eyes, “he’s been texting me updates, about surgeries and physical therapy. All of his sidekicks have visited and keep him company, and this guy Koichi, his old running buddy, he comes by too and helps him with his-his physical therapy. He... he says he’d like me to come by, and I just...”

Tenya sniffs, reveals his now red-rimmed eyes. Placing his glasses on the table, he wipes his tears and taps the form between them. It wasn’t hard to go out and visit, but UA was being especially cautious since the dorms came into reality. One mentor and one student, scheduled visits, unless to a hero agency, and Izuku could see how easily Tenya was putting off the hospital visit but how much it was weighing on his conscious. 

“Is your brother still your role model, one of the reasons you want to be a hero?” Izuku asks somberly, and Tenya nods, drying the last of his tears although his eyes remain watery. “Then go. An injury like that, from a guy like Stain, and on top of everything not being able to keep being a pro hero...” Izuku thinks to All Might, the scar on his side, of sacrifice and clinging to the vestiges of the myth around you. The ability to be a hero, without your Quirk. “He needs to know you still value and love him, without his quirk and without the ability to save everyone. I think... I think you should do it. And I know you think so too, Class President, or else you wouldn’t have gotten the form, filled it out, and stayed up this late thinking about it.”

Tenya nods, looking down at the form.

“After everything that’s happened here, after his injury... I didn’t think there would be a good time to go see him... but you’re right. I don’t think any time would have been good for me, but this isn’t  _ about  _ me. Alright.” Tenya says, placing his glasses back on his nose while nodding. “I will turn this in tomorrow. Thank you, Midoriya- kun . Let’s... let’s go to bed.”

Izuku and Tenya both rise, and after Tenya gets his things together head off to their respective rooms. 

That night, Izuku dreams of the beach, and bandages, and of multi colored embers lighting into a flame in darkness. A voice that whispers  _ almost, almost _ , as it all fades away in the morning.

In the morning, Toshinori walks into the office languidly. He’s a little later than usual—somewhere between late morning and the cusp of noon. He’s tired from grading exams all night and restless sleep from his altercation with Shouta. He knows, instinctively, that petty words like  _ that  _ aren’t worth losing sleep over, but he really believed things between himself and the homeroom teacher were getting better. 

Maybe it was all him, like always, assuming the best and being corrected on where they stood. Maybe the teacher was more prickly than usual because of stress? But still, being stressed was no reason to be so frustrated with him, but then again maybe talking to Shouta before speaking to  Shinsou or just  _ telling _ the other teacher before poking his nose into what technically wasn’t his business would have been better?

_ Oh, well _ , Toshinori thinks with a sigh as he approaches his desk,  _ live and learn.  _ It was all he could do, really. It was all he had left.

He shoves aside some of his notes for the Missing People’s reports he’d been scrounging through, and started a mental check list of all the things he needed for the day. He did have a Heroes course that afternoon with 1-A, and the 1-B class had theirs the next morning. He had a meeting with Tsukauchi for updates and a late dinner, sometime around late evening if Tsukauchi’s updates were anything to go by.

That gives him plenty of time to drown in case files and forget about the world. He looks wryly at his messy desk—maybe not  _ drown _ in case files. It seemed his notes were overdue some... decluttering. Grabbing his small desk trash bin, he started grabbing older, scribbled out sticky notes and scattered scrap paper he had used to brainstorm. He almost doesn’t notice the teachers coming and going if one didn’t just stand a few feet away, waiting.

Toshinori huffs internally. Well, let them wait. He’d been going over notes and lesson plans in his head while cleaning, and the next weekend was only two days away and if he played his cards right--

“Yagi-san,” the man croaked, apparently tired of waiting. Toshinori breathed in to steady himself and turned, a mess of notes in his hand to go through. “I--”

And then—in a flurry of steps Toshinori had almost missed, Kayama  Nemuri burst through the door with a loud shout of Shouta’s name. The two paused and Shouta, eyes  seemingly wide, swallowed his words and turned to the other teacher.

“Shit,”  Nemuri says, glancing between the two, “sorry, sorry, I just—I'll leave some stuff for you at your desk, Shou- chan , I just got called for another case and had to rush out of class, I’ll just...” she scurried over to Shouta’s desk and, almost as quickly as she came, was gone. 

“That was... something,” Toshinori says, shifting his gaze from the empty doorway and back to Shotua. Shouta was still looking at his desk, contemplative. “Look, if you’re trying to-to apologize, or something, you don’t need to.”

“I don't need to do anything, really,” Shouta hums, “but I... I want to... you were right in letting  Shinsou know he should tell me about additional training, I didn’t. Shouldn’t have...” Shouta huffs, one hand scratching at the scruff on his jaw. “I know I said so much yesterday, but. Yeah, this isn’t an apology. You deserve...” Shouta pauses, looking at his desk.

Toshinori doesn’t breathe. Well, he has to, so he is, but he doesn’t try to interrupt. Something about Midnight’s appearance clearly threw Shouta through a loop and watching him gather his thoughts is a strange sight, indeed, even for how briefly it feels they have known each other. He’s almost too lost in the strangeness of the moment to miss the low muttered, almost thoughtless words that follow, softly:

“...  _ you deserve a lot better...” _

Softly, without permission. Toshinori feels a sudden twinge in his half-hollow chest, an old, desperate ache.

Thoughtless, though. A secret in its own. 

“Excuse me, and pardon the intrusion!” A new voice, tilted with the utmost respect shouts from the doorway.

The moment lays in shatters between them, and Shouta’s composure hardens quickly as he wearily eyes Tenya Iida in the door frame.

“How can we help you, Young Iida!” Toshinori replies as he turns to face the student. “I know you can get to your next class with ease but there is a matter of time, young man!”

Shouta grunts, which Toshinori takes as tacit agreement. 

“I, well, to be completely frank, I understand that the timing is very hard with the going- ons in UA and the added security measures, but I thought I could... broach the subject of a trip out of UA...” Tenya says, back still ramrod straight. Aizawa sighs and rubs his eyes, all at once grateful for the reprieve—really, how much of a mess is he that he couldn’t get anything out,  _ good  _ _ lord!-- _ and exhausted at the offer. 

“I see you have your paperwork ready,” Toshinori says, motioning with one hand. “Give it here. Do you have any scheduled time for your excursion?” Tenya walks over to the two teachers and hands over a slightly damp form, and Toshinori hides any reaction as he looks over the destination. That explains the student’s nervousness, at least. “I see, well with  Nedzu’s approval we can go today, if you’d like, as I have a block of free time coinciding with visiting hours.”

“T-today?” Iida stammers, pressing up his glasses with a clammy hand, “I mean, I suppose it is for the best... yes, yes that would be perfect.” The young man deflates, takes a deep breath. “That would be great, All-Might sensei. Thank you.”

“Great!” Toshinori booms, and Tenya startles slightly but releases his breath in a relieved sigh. When the student turns to leave and Toshinori thinks about letting Tsukauchi know, in terms of timing, a very solid body brushes his on their own exit. 

Alone, again. Toshinori sighs, but returns to his desk to grab his lesson plans and file work for later, unaware of the new folder among his belongings and a few sheets of papers off his load. If he can get there quick enough, he can convince  Nedzu to let him  chaperone . 

Shouta doesn't _run_ from the office but he does hurry. If he can get through the day, he might be able to tail Toshinori to the hospital and back again, keeping a watchful eye all the while. He ignores the hard thumping of his heart-- if only because of the quick escape, and nothing more-- and the roar of blood in his ears.

It's been years. 

He hadn't been in a good place for a long time, ineptitude and death clouding his mind. 

It had been a list of names, Shouta knows, before all the scratches and ink-blots. But one of the last visible names stood out to him: Akira Iwako. Next to it were some sloppy notes, something about past incidents and... a date, sometime around five, almost six years before. In the area of Naruhata. 

A spontaneous villain. Shouta keeps repeating the name in his head, even as he goes through the motions of his evening classes, even as he gets ready for a patrol that seems more important tonight than any other night. And through it all, he can't help but think that this is a coincidence, it has to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

An old haunt, so to speak.

"--and you must be Koichi-kun," Tenya says, bowing at the young man sitting next to his brother's bed. "I thank you for all the time you have been here for my brother! You are truly a great friend and exceptional man!" From his spot on the bed, Tensei breaks out in laughter. Koichi lets out a light laugh and scratches his cheek, embarrassed and pleased with a light dusting of blush on his cheeks. 

"Don't let his friendly demeanor fool you!" Tensei says, motioning his brother over to pull the teen into a tight embrace. "He used to be up to no good! In fact-- that's how we met!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I'm sorry y'all, I didn't abandon this fic but my plot sudenly became TOO CLOSE to cannon and that threw me off and then, well. Pandemic. I've been working since the US shut down in March and I am exhausteddddd
> 
> Shorter chapter than I wanted but we're getting deeper-- I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of talking as I build up to the story (sorry y'all) sometimes you gotta be the slowburn you want to see in the world. Come find me on twitter, too! @DemBaraTiddies


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